


Sicklings

by Blvquebird



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Affairs, Angst, Dark Jon, Dark!Jon, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Heartbreak, Jealousy, NSFW, Revenge, Romance, Secret Relationship, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-07-26 06:56:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 63,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7564525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blvquebird/pseuds/Blvquebird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon and Sansa are desperately in love but Jon can’t shake the guilt he feels of their blood ties. Their happiness is roadblocked by Jon’s Stark sense of morality as well as the voices in his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sickling

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first official fanfic (be kind lol) a bit of a trial run so it's not perfect. Jon and Sansa don't know they're cousins (yet). Super angsty (my favorite) Kinda wanted to push my boundaries. Story will be in multiple parts. Hope you all enjoy.

“Oh my gods….” Sansa crooned as Jon sank his lips deeper into her cunt. Her hands gripped and clutched at the sheets of Catelyn and Ned’s wool bedspread, sweat dripping from every pore as she ground her hips harder into his face. Jon’s strong and lean arms held her steady as she writhed and bucked above him.

“Fuuuuuucccckkkkkkk....” she moaned as he nipped her bud. The sensitive mound of nerves received no mercy as he teased them in between his teeth only to let them go as he gave a long wet lick over her opening into her lips over and over and over and again, Dipping his tongue deep into her, slurping in her sweetness. He opened his eyes from his momentary machinations to watch his sweet sister.  
  
The view was satisfying.  
  
Cheeks flushed pink, incoherent language spilling from her blood red lips parted open, fire red locks drenched in sweat sticking to her plump breasts, eyes snapped shut in the pleasure of it all.  
  
“Jon, pleas- I.. ahhh, I’m… I’m gonna…” Sansa pleaded.

She was close, he could tell. She began to try to lift herself away from his face and across the bed. It was too much. A vain attempt it proved, after years of hacking away at Wildlings and White Walkers his arms had the strength the little dove had no chance of escaping. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand as he climbed after her and dragged her hips back down to his mouth, hungrily lapping up her juices.  
  
“JON… Gahhh!!!” She cried as his mouth began a circular motion on her cunt.  
  
Sansa’s hands released her grip on the sheets and attacked his ebony locks, attempting to pry his face away from her nethers but Jon had a death grip on her legs keeping them stationed above his shoulders, maelstrom movements continuing in a fevrent fashion as her hips rolled and jerked above him. She was losing this battle with every suck and slurp he made, her bud swelling with anticipation. Jon growled in satisfaction as her juices became thicker coating his tongue in sweetness. And then it hit, jon quickly moved his large palms beneath her moistened cheeks to better steady her as she quaked, he smiled against her leakage lapping up every last drop until she fell limp. Her grip on his curls going slack as her chest rose and fell rapidly in exhaustion.  
  
“Gods Jon..” Sansa breathed “You take the life out of me…"

Jon licked his lips then ambled above her, muscled arms spanning on either side of her face as his dipped down and kissed her flushed lips allowing her to taste herself. She moaned at the sweetness. Blissfully unaware as he parted her legs with his knee, positioning himself at her entrance, still wet and ready, he thrusted into her. Growling at her tightness, she gasped in ecstatic surprise, not fully gathered from the wildness minutes before.  
  
“Then let me resurrect you” he rasped, lips crashing into hers, nails digging into his back, wet flesh slapping against wet flesh. Ancient bed creaking against the intensity of his throws and her cries increasing an octave a minute.  
  
At this rate, they’d wake the whole of Winterfell.

**********************************************************  
Sunlight seeped into the chamber, casting a faint glow just bright enough to stir them into consciousness. She opened her eyes to see Jon’s dark figure sprawled across her belly, his arms wrapped around her torso, beard tickling her chest, breathing steady.  
  
"My love” Sansa mewled, fingers massaging his dark tendrils, “my love, it’s morning we must wake, the septa will be in to call for us to break our fast soon.”  
  
Jon groaned at her touch and turned his face to lay a trail of kisses down her belly button. Sansa giggled  
  
“Ahh- we mustn’t it’s time to wake, are you not starved?” she placed both her hands on the side of his face and tilted it up towards hers.  
  
“Mmmm… yes” he grumbled “but why move when I can eat to my hearts content right in here?”  
  
Sansa threw her head back in amusement “you’re insatiable Jon Snow, arise and have a proper meal, some solid food to build up your strength.’’

“Alright, I surrender.” Jon whispered as he allowed himself one last kiss on her belly and rolled himself off. He reclined on the feather stuffed pillows for a moment to take in the sight of the lissome beauty in front off him. Lithe arms raised above her lion hewed locks stretching the sleep from her body, her pale skin stamped with the marks he’d bit into her last night. He smirked with a sense of pride,  
  
She was his.  
  
And the marks were but a small example of that fact.  
  
But as he examined the body of the woman he loved, a deep sense of shame encompassed his being. This was the routine, every morning, when he woke after their nights of passion, his feelings of contentment and satisfaction were clouded with an equal and powerful sense of guilt.

 _‘This is wrong’_ a voice would whisper in his ear _‘she is your sister, of your own life’s blood, and every night you fuck her into oblivion, in your own fathers bed.'_

“Jon!”

“Yes.....” he snapped his eyes up from his thoughts as Sansa called out to him, she was hovering above his face now, smelling of lavender and lemon, an innocent and quizzical smile playing on her lips, her hand caressed his cheek, a thumb rubbing against his beard.

“Where were you just now? Can’t get your mind off of that torture you put me through last night?” she amused.

He could not help himself. He placed his hand over hers and used the other to grab the back of her neck as he pulled her down to kiss her lips. She moaned but protested halfheartedly.  
  
“Jon… Jon-” she manged in between pecks “Jon, you embarrass me, at least let me wash the taste of the morning out of my mouth.” she exclaimed as she finally managed to pull away. He laughed, despite her blushes. After all she’d been through, certain lady-like qualities bred into her as a girl could not be bred out.

“Alright then, go” he relented as he gave her one last kiss on the wrist and a firm slap on the bottom. “Have the cook prepare me two boiled eggs, a ration of bacon, blackened, some dark bread with honey and a flagon on beer to wash it down, please.”

She smiled in acknowledgement as she threw her morning robes around her and unlatched the heavy wooden door. As it latched behind her, the click triggered the whispers and shame Sansa had silenced.

_“You defile the honor of your fathers chambers, you slip your tongue into your blood, who’s spilled from the same seed!”_

_**“Silence!”**   _Jon spits back, but he knows it’s true. They might not have shared the same womb, but the blood of Eddard Stark ran through both of their veins. And every time this inconvenient truth presented itself, the aching shame coursed through him as strong and hot as the blood him and Sansa shared.

Jon pressed his thumb and forefinger above the bridge of his nose, trying to will the voice and images of the nights before out of his mind. The hitching breaths, the writhing of her hips, her fire kissed hair fanned over her face as she tossed her head about in pleasure, the erotic sounds of their flesh slapping together as he pumped in and out of her cunt, his mouth tasting the salt of the sweat on her neck.

Yes. The taste of her… the taste…the sweet taste of her juices still on his lips. He ran his tongue greedily over them, savoring what was left of the flavor.

 _“Ssssick!”_ The voiced shrieked in his ears.  
  
Jon rubbed his temples furiously as he got up to dress himself. One foot after another stepping into his leather trousers. He began to lace them up as he caught the glint of the the silk undergarment he slipped off of Sansa the night before. He reached for them, making to hastily shove them in his cloak before one of the maids came across them and started asking too many questions. They hadn’t even tucked comfortably into the pockets before he felt the faint feel of wetness on them. It took every ounce of strength he had to keep his member from hardening at the sensation, it would undoubtedly be an uncomfortable morning if it was allowed to mature. Jon closed his eyes and stilled. Finally able to silence the world around him. Just him and the feel of her silks in his fingers.

 _“FOLLY!”_ Hissed the voice.

_“The Lannisters send their regards, sickling.”_

Jon grimaced as he slammed the chamber doors. The echoes of the hisses ringing in his ears.


	2. Rip, Torn.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa are desperately in love but Jon can’t shake the guilt he feels of their blood ties. Their happiness is road blocked by Jon’s stark sense of morality as well as the voices in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon is haunted. It only get's worse. Sorry (not sorry) for the angst ;).

Jon made his way to the dining hall, slowly.

_“Sickling, sssickling…”_

The snaking echo in his ears

Every since their reunion at Castle Black, both Jon and Sansa realized the importance in their bond to each other, It wasn’t just their blood relation, after his death at the hands of his black brothers, and Sansa misfortunes south at Kings Landing at the hands of the Lannister’s then her horrors in the clutches of the Bolton’s, family became paramount. Family was all they had left. They day the gates opened at the Wall and she leapt into his arms in the courtyard, it was clear he never wanted to be parted from her again.

He didn’t plan on the things that developed afterwards. He didn’t plan for her to look as beautiful as she did. The hardness that was now etched permanently on her face, finally giving her the stark features that had evaded her countenance since childhood. But still even though a hardness had embedded itself inside his sister, she was the only one in those days that could make him laugh. Death had washed over him and lifted itself, thanks to the red woman, he was forever changed, but Sansa’s fire had been the only thing to truly bring him back to life. 

He could not let her go. 

 _‘Sickling’_  
  
But he had to. 

He winced at the thought, pushing open the dining hall doors. The aroma of bread and honey wafting through the halls. Sansa, Arya, Bran, Brienne, Tormund, and Davos sat atop the main table waiting for him. The hot plate of the breakfast he requested sat at an empty place next to Sansa.

“Good morning brother” chirped Arya merrily. She was gnawing on a piece of brown bread covered in black berry preserves just as unladylike as ever. Jon kissed the top of her head, maneuvering his way to his seat. 

“You look well rested, Jon” chimed bran, breaking a piece of his bread off and feeding it to Ghost who licked hungrily at his fingers.

“Good morn.” The rest of them echoed, Tormund gnawing on a chicken leg, leering at Brienne, as she tried not to notice sipping delicately on her tea. Davos slapped Jon on the back.

“You look well, my liege, slept well I hope?”

Jon glanced quickly at Sansa who had a smile playing at her lips as she, like Brienne, sipped quietly on her tea.

“Yes, the night fared me well, Ser Davos.”

“Good. If it pleases you my lord, I plan to head to House Mormont at noon, The lady Lyanna has asked for my escort on the hunt for the upcoming weeks festivities.”

Festivities, Jon had nearly forgotten, The Northern houses were gathering for the solstice’s arrival. House Umber, Hornwood, Karstark, Manderly, and Mormont and their bannermen would all visit Winterfell for the event.

“Yes, there will be many mouths to feed.” Said Jon as he took a bite of his blackened bacon. Now that the North was newly united under a new King, the King in the North, the interactions between all the houses had been more frequent and more joyous. If there was an opportunity to celebrate something, it was seized, without question.

“Will you be heading out alone then, Ser Davos?” Jon inquired

“I wager not, some of the men are itching for a good kill, I had volunteers even before I sent out an invitation. Your sister being one of them” He bellowed. With a fond look at Arya. Since the death of Princess Shireen, Arya had grown on Davos, looking at her like the daughter he never had.

“Can I go Jon??” Arya pleaded “Believe it or not, Needle skins rabbits just as well as Frey’s, I’d like to try her out on venison” Arya said as she swung Needle from the scabbard and swished it quickly with a sharp cutting motion, no doubt imagining the stag she’d cut down in an hour or so.

“Fine. Just take care to save some kill for the rest of the men will you?” Jon amused

“I can’t make any promises” Arya said darkly, a greedy smirk crossed her face and she gobbled down the last of her breakfast. “Shall we ride, Ser Davos?” She asked, wiping the crumbs off her face with the back of her sleeve. 

“We shall.” Davos chimed back, gulping down the last of his beer. He hopped to, giving Jon a bow, Sansa a kiss on the hand and a nod to both Brienne, Tormund and Bran. Arya placed a kiss on Sansa and Bran’s cheeks, reaching Jon, he gave her a peck on the nose, mussing up her hair as he’d always done.

“Don’t forget to pack a warm cloak, Arya” called Sansa after her sister as she sprinted for the doors, Arya gave a wave of hurried acknowledgment behind her.

“Well I should be heading off to the smith, my blades must be sharp if i’m to be of any real service to you my Lady” said Brienne as she rose from her seat.

“We’ll be joining you” Barked Tormund happily, Brienne started to protest looking scandalized but Tormund had already gathered Bran in his arms 

“But wait I haven’t finished!” Cried Bran 

“Hush boy, you’re my only alibi!” whispered Tormund shamelessly.

“Ahh… I see. Yes, Lady Brienne, we’d like to accompany you. I could use the fresh air.” Bran said slowly and reluctantly. Brienne, who knew better than to refuse the young lord, conceded unwillingly. A frown on her face as she walked proudly to the door. Tormund following, looking very impressed with himself, and Bran waving a forlorn goodbye to his brother and sister as well as his unfinished breakfast.

“Poor Bran.” Chuckled Sansa 

“Poor Brienne.” Jon countered equally amused.

Alone in the dining hall, Sansa reached for his hand and kissed it, her slender and soft fingers feeling the roughness of the callouses on his palms. Jon stared at her, her fire kissed locks curling slightly, framing her face, long lashes fluttering open revealing the crystal blue pools he drowned in every time he gazed at her.

 _“Gods, how can anything be so beautiful?”_ he thought to himself. He took her face in his palm and kissed her deeply, his tongue diving into her mouth.

_‘Shame!’_

Sansa moaned.

_'Vile!’  
_

When would it end?

Jon broke the kiss pulling back rapidly. Sansa’s eyes broke open at the sudden abruptness.

“Jon…?” she looked puzzled. “Jon, is something the matter?”

He had no idea how he was going to do it. But he knew if he didn’t, the whispers would never cease.

“Sansa…” Jon began “Sansa my love… I must speak with you.” The innocent way in which she beamed up at him put a knot in his chest that made breathing all of sudden rather difficult.

“What is it?” She crooned as she pulled Jon’s hands into hers, intertwining their fingers, blue orbs looking more and more concerned as moments passed.  
  
“......Jon please, say something, you’re making me nervous.” she laughed uncomfortably.

' _SICK'_

“This must end.” Jon said flatly. There was no way around it. Kill this quickly. a swift swing of the blade. No harm done.  
  
A lie. The swift swing of the sword killed, but the endless spurt of blood flowed ever after.

Sansa stared at him blankly, perplexed, her beautiful face taken aback in surprise. The silence lasted little less than a minute but felt like eons.

“What...what do you mean?” 

Her fingers tightened their hold on his.

_‘Wretch!’_

Jon looked at her face, her eyes bore into his.

_‘Do it, you wretch. Do it before this folly destroys you both.’_

“What’s been happening between us, Sansa, it must end” Jon labored on, every ounce of strength he had leaking from him with each word.

“I don’t… I don’t understand” Sansa’s face remained perplexed.

“Sansa, we cannot go on like this anymore.” Jon stated flatly, keeping his famous composure despite the tumult in his head. “I’ve resisted facing the truth about this for some time, but I must concede, we are in the wrong… you are… you are my sister… my blood.”

Sansa clutched at his hand a bit harder, her face morphing from surprise to concern.

“Jon…” she started slowly “what’s changed? We knew this when I first pressed my lips to yours the night we took back our home. The night we took back Winterfell. I don’t understand how you can say this to me…” 

He didn’t answer immediately, her eyes still boring into his, the heat from her hands nearly scalding him. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to say the words--every syllable nearly choking him as they made their way up his throat. He didn’t want to feel the pain growing in his chest, didn’t wait look at her lips, still pink and flushed and bruised from the night before.  
  
“Sansa..” he breathed, his face inches from hers.  
  
 _Just one more kiss…_ he thought.   
  
His lips pressed to hers, his need for her lifting them both to their feet. His hands slipping into her auburn locks clutching them firmly.   
  
‘S _WINE! SICKLING!’_ the voice shrieked. His eyes screwed shut in mental agony. It was too much.  
  
He broke away from her instantaneously, panic creeping up his spine, backing away a few feet, eyes averting her gaze.  

“Talk to me!” Sansa pleaded, her hand reaching out but Jon inched away from her some more.  
  
“Sansa no…” He was adamant this time, attempting to put as much space between himself and her as possible.  
  
“I’ve indulged this far too long. This must be finished. This must end. You are my blood. The very act of pressing my mouth against yours is a sin. A sin in the eyes of the Old Gods and the New. We mustn’t anymore… We mustn’t.”  
  
“Listen to me…” Sansa begged “Don’t do this to me, don’t do this to _us!”_ She couldn’t understand what was happening, how could he say these things to her? Talking of sin and over indulgences when only a night before he was buried inside her. When this very morning he had pressed his lips to her belly. When not a moment ago his embrace had lifted her to her feet.   
  
“It’s not right.” he said, pained.   
  
“It _is”_ she countered “It is the only thing right.” Her palms upraised imploring him to listen to her at she stepped towards him, closing the gap between them, her eyes were brimming with tears.  
  
“You brought me back to life, Jon. After Joffrey, after Ramsey… I was dead. It’s as if you’re telling me it’s wrong to breathe! This fire we feel…it consumes us… how could it be wrong? I will not stand here and watch you throw us away! You cannot tell me you don’t feel it too…”    
  
Jon immediately cut her off, grabbing her face leaving centimeters between them.  
  
“Don’t tell me what I feel, Sansa.” His tone turning serious. He knew this would not go well, but he needed to make her understand.   
  
“Of course I feel it, I feel it in every fiber of my being, I feel it all the time. I could take you right here...“ he slammed his hands on the table “Right here, right now, and make love to you for the rest of my life, I could do it–”  
  
“Then lets–” Sansa interrupted, the ghost of a smile creeping up her lips, a tear rippling down her face wetting Jon’s thumb, the feel of the tear burning his very skin.  
  
“I can’t!” Jon interjected “I won’t be able to look myself in the mirror afterwards”  
  
_‘Sssssickling’  
_  
  
_‘vile’  
  
_  
_“WRETCH!’  
_  
Jon shook his head, raising his voice over the hisses  
  
“Sansa, you are my _blood,_ my _blood…_ we’re of the same _seed_. You deserve another, another man who will not defile you and your honor, as I have…”   
  
Another man. The words tasted bitter as he said them.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Jon,  _no!”_ Sansa protested, her voice equally raised, gripping the hands still holding tightly to her face. “My honor is long since vanished after that _bastard_ Ramsey, I want no other man but you!”

“Sansa… I’m sorry. I cannot. You deserve better. This is finished.” Jon said with a finality in his tone that was beyond contestation.   
  
Sansa’s eyes searched his, darting back and forth between the deep grey. Searching for some joke and inkling that this was not real, that he might retract his statements.  
  
She found none.  
  
Jon pulled away from her, not able to bear the burning feel of her skin beneath his fingers, or the pained betrayed look in her cerulean eyes, red and puffy from her spilled tears. He began to walk way, appetite extinguished. His feet an extra seven stone.  
  
“ _Jon please!_ ” She whispered, pleading. Her hand outstretched.   
  
_“I love you.”_ Sansa wept.  
  
He closed his eyes but did not look back. Resisting the bile inching it’s way up his throat. Resolving to have a maid prepare a scalding bath so he could scrub the guilt, feel of her touch and the hate he felt for himself off of him.  
  
_‘Goood Ssssssickling.”_  The hiss hummed, drowning out the sound of Sansa’s pleading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate to do this to Jon and Sansa! Yes, Bran and Arya are back in Winterfell! Tormund continues his chase for Brienne. Upcoming chapters will include the solstice and major things will happen, that's all I can say for now. Feedback is more than welcome! Hope you all enjoy.


	3. Ferment.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa are desperately in love but Jon can’t shake the guilt he feels of their blood ties. Their happiness is roadblocked by Jon’s stark sense of morality as well as the voices in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon sleeps to forget. But regret is usually the best catalyst to fresh and bitter memories, and Jon remembers everything.

Jon retired to his chamber, the sun had not even set but he found no ounce of energy to carry on that day. He stripped from his robes, his raven locks still damp from his bath, his skin tinged pink from the scalding waters he’d ordered heated twice over.   
  
He clambered into bed desperate to fall into the blackness that would drown the memories of the morning from his mind.  
  
_‘Vile...retch...folly’_  
  
Running a hand through his hair, he laid his head back on the linens of the feather stuffed pillows, his eyes closing, turning his face into the cloth, breathing in deep.  
  
The smell of lavender and lemon sneaking into his nostrils, his world fading to dark...  
*********  
_“You fought well today, my lord.”  croaked Davos as he helped Jon up the step to his quarters._  
  
_“As did you, Ser Davos” replied Jon_  
  
_The battle had been won and now the exhaustion of the days battle had set over all who were still alive. The Direwolf banners now hung on the castle walls, Winterfell was under Stark control at last. Jon never thought he’d see the day, the victory was sweet yet bitter all the same. Rickon’s corpse flashed before his eyes, laying dead at his steed’s hooves, an arrow sheathed in his chest._  
  
_“Is there anything else you need, Lord Snow” inquired Davos, as theyfinally stood at the chamber doors. Jon winced as he rubbed his right shoulder, sore from  the cuts and lunges he’d inflicted on the flesh of his enemies._  
  
_“Yes...” Jon started slowly “Set pyres for the men, ours and the others.”  Davos nodded in agreement._  
  
_“I’ll send word immediately, very honorable, my lord.”_  
  
_Jon gave half a smile in spite of his pain, Davos noticed._  
  
_“Those cuts’ll need cleanin’, Lord Snow” He said, eyeing the gashes that were visible to the naked eye._  
  
_“I’ve had worse.” Jon joked, motioning at his torso referencing his stab wounds inflicted by the men of the Nights Watch the night of his death._  
  
_“Aye..” agreed Davos “But all our work will have been for naught of you keel over from infection, I’ll send a maid up with ointment and linens.” He gave a brief squeeze to Jon’s good shoulder, and turned to make his way down the steps._  
  
_“Ser Davos” Jon called out. Davos stopped in his tracks and looked up at the Lord commander._  
  
_“Thank you, for everything.”_  
  
_“’Twas an honor, My lord” and with a tilt of his head he was gone._  
  
_Jon entered the rooms, candle light flickered in the winter wind of the sills as he retired from his shifts slipping them off himself gingerly. He undid the laces of his trousers, stripping down completely. Noticing only now the intense tenderness in his muscles since the adrenaline of the battle had worn off. Jon was lost in his reveries, so much so he barely heard the almost inaudible knock at the door._  
  
_“Enter” he said, eyes closed as he massaged his neck, his thighs, his calves._  
  
_The door creaked open, Jon’s eyes still closed._  
  
_“You look awful.”_  
  
_Jon’s eyes fluttered open to see auburn braided locks and velvet blue dress, Direwolf sigil stiched on the breast, blocking his view._  
  
_“Sansa” he breathed. She was balancing a flagon of something that smelled fermented, Brandy or wine he assumed, with a bowl of hot water and fresh lines draped over her forearm._  
  
_“I thought it best if I brought these up to you, the maids are losing their minds tending to the other wounded.” She explained as she set everything down on the table closest to the bed._  
  
_“’S’alright” Jon wheezed fumbling for a blanket to cover his nethers so as to not offend his sister._  
  
_She turn to regard him for a moment, his hair still slightly matted with earth, even the bath he’d taken hadn’t been able to wipe the physical memories of the day completely off of him. She reached for the flagon of fermented liquid and linens and made her way towards him._  
  
_“Sansa no, you don’t have to--” Jon started in half-hearted protest_  
  
_“No. Let me. You can barely move.” Sansa declared as she dipped the linens in the hot water and began to dab at the cuts attempting to cleanse them._  
  
_Her fingers were soft and nimble, her touch gentle, her eyes crystalline and focused. She ran her fingers over every gash examining the damage in silence. Jon watched her, taking in her features, her softness contrasted by the hardness he now saw peaking just over her cheekbones. She was beautiful, he thought, nothing like the girl he’d knew when they’d first left Winterfell. All daydreams and fairy tales, there was none of that left._  
  
_She’d successfully cleansed every wound with the water when she reached for the flagon of ferment. A nervous look crossed her face, no doubt anticipating the sting she was about to inflict on him. Her hands steady but she took a hard sip from the contents instead. Jon observed and laughed in spite of her, the first real laugh he’d had in days._  
  
_“In preparation?” He inquired cheekily. She gave him a half-hearted slap on the wrist for the jest, but laughed all the same._  
  
_“I’ve never actually done this before, don’t tease!”_  
  
_“Alright, I reserve judgement.” he relented slipping the flagon from Sansa’s fingers and drinking heavily from it as a gesture of solidarity. She grinned at him, turning her eyes back to his wounds. Cleansing every lesion when her fingers traced his torso, there were cuts there, cuts that were not garnered in the events that unfolded that day. The shadow of understanding crossed her face, her cerulean gaze met his cloudy grey._  
  
_“Is this where...” she whispered, quietly._

 _Jon eyes bore into hers. His expression still and blank._  
  
_“Yes.” He stated. Simply._  
  
_Sansa stared at the wounds again, fingers running over the scar tissue that had hardened over them, fingers trembling as she took the flagon from Jon’s hands and drank deeply from it. Wiping her mouth on the back of her sleeve. Jon watched her sympathetically._  
  
_She reached into her gown and pulled a needle and thread from the lining, sterilizing the needle with a clean cloth and hot water. She began to weave through his flesh with the mastery she’d always been known for, gently but precise._  
  
_“Did you ever think you’d see this day” she asked Jon quietly, stitching while she spoke._  
  
_“What, the day we’d have our home back?” Jon replied, he took a moment to consider it, his eyes staring into the flames of the fire crackling beside them._  
  
_“No.” he answered honestly. The question triggered another as he thought about the surreality of their current situation._  
  
_“ And Ramsey.” He asked. He waited. It was her turn to take a moment apparently as she continued threading his skin together in silence._  
  
_“Indisposed.” She stated flatly. Her fingers quickening on her stitches. Jon nodded slowly._  
  
_“And how?” he continued, staring in to her face, Sansa working tirelessly, threading in and out at a particularly large slice above his pectoral._  
  
_“Let’s just say... his hounds hunger no more.” She retorted. “Ahh-” she exclaimed a moment later, snatching her hand away from Jon’s chest. She’d pricked her finger. A droplet of crimson rippled down her index. She made to reach for a cloth but Jon’s hand caught hers._  
  
_“No, let me...” he murmured. He elevated her hand up to his lips and gently began to suck. The warmth of his mouth cooling the biting sting. Sansa’s breath hitched as she watched him. his eyes were closed. The sensation of feel of his lips warming and cooling her skin at the same time. She didn’t know if it was the fatigue or the candlelight or the drink effecting her, but she tried her best to ignore the strange feeling between her thighs._  
  
_Jon eyes opened, his lips breaking contact with the tip of her finger._  
  
_“Better...” he whispered, grey eyes staring into hers._  
  
_“Yes... thank you.” she breathed. She felt hot all of a sudden. Suddenly feeling the weight of her fur cloak, the thought that she was perhaps wearing too many layers for comfort crossing her mind._  
  
_“It’s... it’s quite warm... in here.” She stuttered fidgeting at her dress. John observed her feeling the heat himself even though, save for the blanket draped across his lap, he was completely nude._  
  
_“Your clothes... you’re wearing too much” he stated bluntly. It was the drink he thought. It had to be. Words had never slipped from his lips so comfortably before. Yet he felt no shame in them._  
  
_“Let me help you.” Jon continued. suddenly standing, the blanket cloaking his member dropping listlessly to the floor. Sansa blushed, but for reasons unknown to her at the moment, turned her back to him, letting him push her long auburn braid from her neck to undo her dress._  
  
_Jon’s fingers worked lithely, unbuttoning the velvet slowly. Every now and again his skin would brush against hers, sending a chill down her spine and goosebumps up her arms. Sansa shuddered slightly, clad only in her small clothes. Jon’s fingers lifted from her, stepping back._  
  
_“Better...” he said once more. Sansa turned to face him, his face stoic, slight pink tinging the lean, muscled area around the scars she stitched. The perfect image of a warrior. His ebony beard perfectly framing his jaw. Full raven curls spiraled down the nape of his neck. Sansa took him in, her mouth going dry, her cunny growing moist..._  
  
_“No.” She said simply in response. Closing the gap between them, she raised her arms above her head, beckoning Jon to remove the last bits of garment framing he figure, to truly make it better._  
  
_He understood. Lifting her silks up and over her head, her plump breasts hung perked and exposed, nipples pink and hard. He pulled her to him, breathing her in, the smell of lavender lingered on her hair, lemon floating from her lips. He pressed his forehead to hers, his member growing more swollen with every breath._  
  
_“Jon--” Sansa started but before she had a chance to protest, Jon’s lips crashed into hers, his strong fingers dipping past her small clothes and into her burning core. She gasped, unprepared but not in pain. She was so wet, dripping practically, that Jon’s digits flowed in and out of her with ease. Her gentle kisses became feverish, just like his. He dipped his tongue into her mouth, tracing it on her top lip as she nipped on his bottom, he broke from the kiss to watch her lips, parted and bruised as a moan escaped her throat. Her fingers tightened on his locks as he pump his fingers in an out of her slick folds._  
  
_Any ounce of hesitation they felt for whatever reason was gone the minute he clutched her slender feminine frame to him and fell on the bed. She was no longer the shy little dove, swooning over the idea of princes and chivalry, it was a woman pinned beneath him, and it was a woman who wrestled him so she was now positioned on top._  
  
_It was the drink, it had to be. The drink that made her brazen and wanton. aso much so that she hurriedly pulled his fingers from him, lifting them to her bruised and flushed lips and into her mouth sucking in her sweetness. Jon groaned in ecstasy, running his fingers down the crevice between her breast then cupping one, sucking the hardened nipple in desperate want._  
  
_“Uggh godssss...” Sansa groaned, throwing her head back in elation. She could take no more, in that instant she reach for Jon’s milking cock shoving it inside her. Jon growled, pained in pleasure by the tightness of her cunt. He slammed her hips down to meet his, both lost in rapture. She rode him hard, turned on by the sound of her wetness meeting his hardness. Hips spelling out everything she could not enunciate in the moment: her ‘thank you’s’, her ‘I was so scared you were lost to me in that battle’, ‘I’ve wanted you the moment I leapt into your arms at Castle Black’. Everything was expressed in the penetration of her pink flesh, in the bites Jon left on her neck as he pulled her face down to his to slip his tongue into her mouth, tasting the sweetness she’d licked from his fingers a moment before._  
  
_“Jon... unf---Jon!’  Sansa moaned against his mouth as he clutched each ass cheek grinding her harder and harder against him. For a moment,  her azure eyes met his stormy grey, Sansa whispered against his lips..._  
  
_“I love you...”_  
  
_A violent shudder racked his body and Jon’s eyes were blinded by white._  
_*************_  
He woke with a start, sweat dripping from his brow,

 _‘I love you...’_ reverberatingoff the stones in the chamber. Jon reached beside him, groping the sheets, feeling nothing. He turned his face to the right, his only company the ash and burnt stumps of the logs from the fire that crackled hours before.   
  
He was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slight break to the angst, but an upgrade on the kink. I'm afraid the drama only picks up from here. Big big things upcoming! ;) Hope you all enjoy[ed]!


	4. Solstice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa are desperately in love but Jon can’t shake the guilt he feels of their blood ties. Their happiness is road blocked by Jon’s Stark sense of morality as well as the voices in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Solstice celebrations begin as new characters grace the halls of Winterfell, as well as some old ones.

Jon kept himself busy. It had been a seven days since he'd spoken with Sansa in the dining halls.The memory of it still burned like a cattle brand in his mind.  
  
_‘This is finished...’  
_  
_‘WRETCH!’  
  
‘Don’t do this to me...’  
_  
‘ _Ssssssickling’  
_  
_‘It’s a sin’  
_  
_‘I love you...’_  
  
He was almost grateful for the stress of the northern houses gathering for the Solstice festivities. Anything. Jon would use any excuse to make himself scarce and pour over monotonous catalogs of Winterfell’s funds and finances, grain stores and cellars of wine and mead, documentation of the livestock and deeds of land under the castles protection and control. He was skimming over a particularly long list of repairs needed in the stables when a knock rapped on the door.  
  
“Enter” Jon said lazily  
  
A young squire clad in grey cloaks and black gloves bowed to Jon  
  
“My liege, we’ve sounded the horn, the solstice party are near the outward gates, they should arrive soon.” He announced.  
  
Jon had been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t heard the trumpet announcing the arrival of guests. He nodded to the young squire  
  
”Yes, thank you I’ll be down shortly greet them.”  
  
Jon ran a hand over his face mentally preparing himself for the events of the night. Touching his face, he made a mental note to head to the wash chambers at some point to groom himself, a weeks worth a new growth on his face would need to be trimmed off, to look presentable to the lords under his command.  
*******************************************************************************  
Twilight had fallen over Winterfell and the bustle of the castle was alive, maids rushing in an out of the halls adding their finishing touches to the floors and the silver, beating the carpets and dusting the tapestries. Jon weaved in between them, nodding absently at the curtsies and bows of the servants. He pushed open the castle doors to head to the courtyard, already crowded with the bulk of the household. Squires and stable boys to the aft, chamber maids and men servants and a cluster of freefolk towards the front. Jon approached, making his way to take his place at the front of the fold. He gave a kiss on the forehead to Bran at his right side dawning a fur cloak and a leather vest, Direwolf sigil stitched on the chest, supported by one of the burlier men servants. Tormund to his left, his hair curiously slicked back on his head and somewhat neat, he’d obviously made an attempt to groom, no doubt hoping to impress the tall blonde who stood near him, sword placed in front of her, eyes facing forward, desperately trying not to notice his leers. Podrick standing chin up next to her.  
  
“My lord” Tormund gruffed as he gave a firm shake of the hand to Jon.  
  
“My Lord” echoed Brienne as she bowed to Jon.  
  
The whole of Winterfell stood bunched int the courtyard, the whole of Winterfell save for one: a certain thick head of ginger locks was missing from the crowd Jon noticed. Brienne, who seemed to read his thoughts, answered his question before it was uttered.  
  
“Lady Sansa has remained in her chambers, my lord, she's spent the bulk of her days in them for the past half of a fortnight.”  
  
Jon mouth suddenly went dry, a wave of anguish overtook him thinking of her alone, her only company being the darkness that shrouded her rooms.  
  
“Has she eaten.” Jon inquired softly.  
  
“She’s consumed barely anything, my lord...” continued Brienne. “I’ve brought her meals to her door, but she’s latched it so I’ve had no choice but to leave them. She’s not well. I’m not sure what’s happened to her, she seemed in good spirits and health the last morning she’d been to break her fast... I’d hoped she’d be up to greet our visitors but...” She finished looking concerned.  
  
“Perhaps it’s her moon's blood.” Bran chimed in hopefully, however he looked equally concerned as Brienne “She’s never had much of an appetite during her time, only for lemon cakes.”  
  
“Yes... I hadn’t thought of that.” Lady Tarth replied looking slightly relieved at the volunteer explanation but not all together convinced.  
  
Jon swallowed, guilt washing over him, remembering the way she wept. He’d spent the last week a ghost in the castle himself, under the guise of 'busy tending to estate affairs', he’d be a fool to think the events of that morning had effected her any less than they’d effected him. However his thoughts were interrupted by the clamor of hooves approaching the front gates.  
  
 The giant wooden latch lifted and opened wide, Arya and Ser Davos at the front clad in their riding gear, after them, the black bear of House Mormont billowed in the winter wind, Lady Lof Bear Island, stern faced as usual, draped in her usual black. Next the Black Lizard Lion of House Reed, Lord Howland and his Daughter Meera on the back of two brown mares, The armored silver fist of House Glover, Lord Robett on the back of his brown steed, followed by the black battle axe of House Cerwyn and their Lord Cley, The black moose of House Hornwood, The white merman of House Manderly and their Lord Wyman Manderly, white haired and proud, and lastly the blue and white chequy of House Mazin and their banner men pulling up the rear. more men and women gathered into the courtyard colorful in their furs and boots helped off their steeds by their squires as they filed into a line to present themselves to the House Stark.  
  
Arya hopped off her horse, Needle clinking at her side and jumped into Jon’s arms, kissing him on the nose. “There’s so much venison, we could open a museum of Stag carcasses once the feasts are over.” She bragged giddily. Jon laughed as she took her place beside Bran. Davos hopping off his horse and bracing Jon on the arm.  
  
“Welcome back, Ser Davos.” Jon said “I trust the hunt fared well?”  
  
“Very well, my liege, however there wasn’t much of a hunt, young Arya got to most of the game before any of us.” Davos bellowed and motioned behind him to rather sour looking men lifting about 8 Stags and 4 Does from a carriage, all sporting sword wound as apposed to arrow markings.  
  
“I thought I told you to save some for the rest of the men.” Jon scolded to Arya light-heartedly, receiving an indifferent shrug in response.  
  
“My King.” Called another voice as Lady Lyanna strolled toward them proudly, all eleven years of her.

“Lady Lyanna.” Jon retorted smiling as she bowed “You look well, welcome. All fares well on Bear Island I hope?”  
  
“Yes, my lord the summer has warmed our waters for diversion and fishing. We’re very happy.”  
  
Jon greeted the rest of the host, meeting Lord Howland and his daughter Meera who shifted over to Bran as quickly as she could, throwing her arms around him. The lord Cley Cerwyn and his family, White haired Lord Wyman and his kin, the Hornwoods, the Mazins and their men and finally Lord Glover and his wife as well as his daughter Erena and son Gawen.  
  
“My King” Bellowed Robett Glover, kneeling at Jon’s feet.  
  
“Ser Robett, it is good to see you” Jon said, helping him to his feet.  
  
“And you My lord, may I present my wife, Sybelle, my son, Gawen, and my daughter, Erena.” Lord Glover said pointing to each his hand resting proudly on his daughter, a beautiful girl of about eighteen with thick brown hair and green eyes, a splash of freckles just above her nose. She curtsied to Jon, dipping low. “Your grace” She said, in dulcet tones. Jon nodded politely kissing her hand as well as her mothers.  
  
“An honor, truly” He said to them. He took a step back, Davos then started forward, speaking loudly over the din. “If all of you would be so kind to head in, the maids and men will show you to your quarters to rest your things quickly before the evening starts.”  
  
The crowd murmured excitedly flowing into the halls.  
*************************************************************  
Winterfell was alive with music an hour later. It had taken that, long at least to get every one settled comfortably in their own quarters. Outside the castle fires were burning and inside, wreaths of spice hung on the stone walls, Next to direwolf banners, ribbons of blue green and yellow representing the may day criss-crossed over head. candles lit every corner of the hall casting a merry light throughout the chamber reflecting off the pewter plates and goblets. On the tables, the cooks had outdone themselves: the deer that had been slain by Arya (and maybe two other men) were butchered and seasoned to perfection, stacked high on every table, pigeon pies on beds of winter greens, fatted ducks, wild boar with weirwood apples, roasted honeyed hen, honeyed breads, wild figs and sweetened potatoes, trenchers of spiced gravy, Flagons of mulled mead, aged ale, and fine summerwine lay before everyone, the aroma wafting through the halls.   
  
At the high table, Jon sat beside Bran and Arya, the two of them dressed in a similar combination of grey wool trimmed with white, the Stark colors. Jon dawning his usual but sophisticated black, his hair slicked into his signature knot at the back of his head. The other lords and ladies, sat beside them, Meera and Bran chatted happily, Lyanna and Arya shared equal judgmental looks at the household girls fawning and fainting over the steward boys, Tormund was guffawing over a joke Lord Reed had told, Lord Glover and his wife complimented Jon on the bounty that laid before them all, while Lord Manderly, Cerwyn and ser Davos shared tales of their youth.   
  
Toasts were made, thanks were given, and the whole of the hall  began feasting sumptuously on the meal that laid before them. Flagons and goblets clashed together with the roar of laughter from the bannermen, women complimented each other on their gowns, It should have been a merry time, but Jon’s mind, now clouded from the fourth cup on summerwine he’d downed from his goblet was only swimming on thoughts of the redheaded beauty missing from the celebrations. It was then that Lord Glover called for a dance from the minstrels, a gale of agreement erupted from the gathering as benches scraped to make room for whatever tune played next.   
  
“My Lord Snow.” Started Lord Glover, face flushed pink from ale “I present you my daughter Erena once again, she’s well versed in the courtly dances, if it pleases you, she’s a fine partner for a dance.”

Jon’s eyes fell on the brunette who was clad in a green gown trimmed with silver, emeralds dripped from her ears bringing out the color of her eyes. She smiled delicately, bowing to Jon.   
  
The very last thing Jon wanted to do at that moment was move, feeling as crippled his baby brother by his misery, let alone dance. But looking into the proud and drunken face of the Lord of House Glover, he resolved it would be in bad taste to refuse.   
  
“Of course.” agreed Jon, mustering as much false chivalry as he could. He presented his hand to the lady Erena whose hand was placed into Jon’s by her father as he bowed away, her mother smiling on fondly. He led her to the floor and placed a hand on her upper back, stepping lightly from side to side, joining the rest of the crowd as the music played and laughs whirred on around him. The lutes broke into an even tune that required an even speed. Lady Erena looked up at Jon smiling.  
  
“The castle is beautiful, Your Grace. We are grateful and honored you’ve shared your bounty with us. ” She said.   
  
“The honor is mine.” Jon retorted politely. “Your father has been a faithful friend to our house for years, my family is proud to host you and yours.”   
  
Erena blushed and spun, her hands clasped into Jon’s as she whirled back around, stepping from side to side again.  
  
“Does it get lonely here in the capital of the North my Lord?” Erena inquired curiously  
  
Jon answered with a tilt of his head “At times I suppose, but our wolves keep us in good company.” At that Erena twittered girlishly. Jon could not seriously see the humor in what he just said but appreciated that the girl found him humorous considering his current moods.  
  
“and...” She continued, switching places with Jon as the others had done with their partners and stepping side to side once more, “Are there any fair maidens to keep you company along with your wolves, My Lord? The north has always been famous for it’s bounty of beautiful maids.” she said, boldly.   
  
Jon’s mouth opened to consider her question when the doors of the hall creaked open and heads turned. The room falling silent momentarily.  
  
There, in the darkness of the outward halls, Sansa’s tall, slender figure, as bright as any candle, clad in a figure hugging gown of Periwinkle stood illuminated at the doors, Ghost’s white fur accenting the dress, standing waist level at her side. Long auburn locks curled elegantly around her face falling to her elbows. Two simple pearls studded in her ears. A loud cheer from the drunken fold erupted as she walked in, chin raised. Men rushed to her side to greet her, bowing and fawning over her beauty. Arya, Bran, Lyanna, Tormund, Davos and Brienne (looking relieved) clapped, smiling down at her.   
  
Jon’s body went numb as he stared at her, his chest feeling tight, his breathing slowed. He could no longer feel the warmth of the Lady Erena’s back in his palm, only the rush of anxiousness that coursed through his body as he tensed watching his sister.   
  
She was smiling politely to the guests who clambered to her as if she were some sort of priestess they were begging for a blessing. Nodding here and there to the curtsies and bows, but it was the young Lord Gawen who with a low bow and handsome smile, was able to pull her from the chaos and into a dance that triggered a whirl and occasional switch of partner every so often. Feeling had come back into Jon’s being when he felt a wet sensation at the tip of his fingers, he snapped awake from his reverie to see Ghost licking at his hand in silent greeting, he grinned ruffling the wolf’s fur, Ghost stayed long enough to raise his red eyes to lady Erena and with a sniff of indifference amble off towards Bran and Meera who were beckoning him with his favorite, a honeyed piece of roasted chicken. Jon now realized he was still in the middle of the hall stark still. With a slight nudge, Erena was able to coax them both into movement with the rest of the crowd to the new jig.   
  
“Your sister is very beautiful.” She said to Jon.   
  
“Yes...” Jon responded absently, still staring at Sansa from across the room.  
  
“I’m happy she’s found a partner in my brother Gawen, he loves to dance as much as I, and very light on his feet as well.” she continued, forcing conversation now. Jon, still lost in the burning embers of his sister locks remained unfocused on Erena’s small talk.  
  
“hmmm...” Jon grumbled absently again in inarticulate acknowledgment.   
  
There was a sudden clap from the floor signaling a partner switch, Erena whirled from Jon’s hands and into a salt and pepper haired bannerman as another maiden, clad in a red gown with strawberry blonde hair, swayed into Jon’s arms, Sansa now glided across the floor not far from Jon with a dark haired Knight. Heat rose in his cheeks, he was starting to feel his drink as two more partner switches brought Sansa closer to him. A few feet away he could see a very slight sheen of sweat glistening on her neck, his mouth watered inadvertently, his breathing slowed.  
  
Another clap and whirl and his fingers found the soft periwinkle material of Sansa’s gown as she floated into his arms. Jon’s arm wrapped around her waist a little tighter than the dance required, he pressed her chest to his, his grey gaze lifted to her face however her eyes were averted, not looking at him, stepping side to side gracefully and completely mute.  
  
“Sansa...” Jon began quietly and anguished.  
  
No answer.  
  
His gaze searched her face as her eyes stayed focused but blank on the black boiled leather vest she’d sown for him one of their first nights in Winterfell. He noticed that though she looked undeniably beautiful, her eyes shown a tad bluer due to the slight red tinge on her underlids, no doubt from countless night’s she’d cried herself into a slumber. Her pale skin looked a little tighter over her cheekbones, and Jon could just make out the feel of more bone than he’d felt a week before underneath her gown, she’d had to have lost at least a half stone.   
  
Guilt overcame him again as he gazed into her face. Auburn tendrils swaying to and fro over her cheek.   
  
“Sansa...” he breathed again, this time running his calloused thumb over the arch of her cheekbone. Still no answer, her eyes staying transfixed on the direwolf stiched into the bulls hide of his vest.  
  
“Sansa...” Jon whispered again more acutely his finger running over her cheek again. “Sansa... look at me.... _please...”_ Jon urged in covert desperation. His eyes a storm, eyebrows furrowed inward and slightly upward  
  
“Look at me...please” he said again “Speak to me...” he begged, his voice just above a hush.   
  
Slowly, Sansa eyes closed, her features fighting to hide muted anguish, her eyes opened again steadily raising to meet Jon’s gaze. Their eye’s locked. Jon’s breath caught in his throat.  
  
_“Speak to me...”_ Jon whispered again practically moaning in agony. Her eyes tiredly gazed back into his, Jon couldn’t help but notice there was something dead about the look she gave him, the bonfire that burned in the irises of her azure orbs had somehow dimmed to a low and feeble flicker.   
  
_“Speak... to...me...”_ Jon implored again, a desperate hush enunciated every syllable.  
  
Slowly, her mouth parted slightly, red lips hung open.  
  
“You left me.” she whispered simply, dead eyes staring into his.  
  
Jon felt as though he’d been struck in the gut by a thousand pound fist.  
  
Silence lingered between them. And not just the silence of the words they could not say to each other, the whole hall had fallen quiet, looking at them. Jon forcefully broke his gaze from hers, noticing only now that the dance had stopped and they were standing motionless and alone in the middle of the floor. Whispers were fluttering about the room, faces looked slightly uncomfortable. Jon looked up to the high table to see his family looking slightly quizzical as well as concerned. His arms still wrapped around Sansa’s waist, he made to give a wave of his hand and announce another jig to start when the chamber doors burst open again.   
  
Heavy clinking of plated mail rang out against the hum of whispers as a tall figure made it’s way into the hall. A golden lion etched onto the chest of the breast plate, a crimson cape cascaded down his back, a heavy gold hand glinted against the candle light.   
  
Brienne’s eyes widened.  
  
Bran’s face blanched.  
  
Arya’s eyes narrowed.  
  
Jon’s jaw clenched.  
  
In a split second, a dozen swords were at his neck, armor clanking loudly to the stone floors, green eyes peering through blonde bangs, with the weight of twelve northern men above him...  
  
“Now now... can’t we all just get along?” said the strangled voice of one Jaime Lannister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter's a little longer than usual but drama is always better with a build up, no? 
> 
> Jon and Sansa are on the angst train again. Some other northern ladies are realizing just how pretty The King in the North is. Sweet Ghost comes through at the clutch, as usual and Three Words:
> 
> Jaime. Fucking. Lannister. 
> 
> Bet you all are wondering what the hell he's doing this far north of King's landing huh? Stay tuned! I hope you all enjoy(ed)!


	5. Uninvited Guests.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa are desperately in love but Jon can’t shake the guilt he feels of their blood ties. Their happiness is roadblocked by Jon’s stark sense of morality and the voices in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime is caught up in a sharp situation as the Solstice celebrations continue.

A sword from every noble northern house hung at the throat of the Kingslayer who was pressed down to his knees on the cold stone floor of the great hall.  
  
“If you don’t mind, this is rather uncomfortable.” He sneered in irritation.  
  
“Tell us one reason we shouldn’t slit your throat right here and now.” Growled Lord Wyman Manderly menacingly.   
  
“Well, for one, it wouldn’t be very polite to spill my blood on these perfectly polished floors, the maids have really outdone themselves, I can nearly see my reflection.” Jamie retorted sarcastically.  
  
“Insolence!” cried a bannerman from House Cerwyn  
  
“Yes, well I don’t presume your Lord King would be very pleased at a blood bath in the middle of his party.” replied Jaime matter-of-factly.  
  
“If I recall correctly you Lannisters have never had problem with blood being spilled during celebrations” snarled a knight from house Reed  
  
“We’d be doing Lord Snow a favor!” cried a swordsman from House Mazin, receiving a roar of approval from the rest.  
  
“Any last words, Lannister?” Rumbled Lord Wyman pressing the tip of his sword against Jamie’s throat.   
  
Before Jaime was able to snip back, the hall doors opened again, and the uneven waddle a clank of gold heralded the arrival of the short and stunted legs of Tyrion Lannister.  
  
His benevolent smile faded as he peered around the hall and his eyes rested on his older brother, surrounded by steel.  
  
“Well... I expected nothing less than a proper northern welcome.” He stated lazily. “Would you fine gentlemen be kind enough to lower your weapons from my brother’s neck? We do in fact come in peace.”  
  
No one moved a muscle.  
  
“I see...” continued Tyrion with a roll of his eyes. “Very well then, I will ask the man in charge. Where is your lord commander? Anyone? Jon?” Tyrion continued calmly and obnoxiously.  
  
The crowd simultaneously turned their heads towards his direction. The silence in the hall was deafening. Tyrion caught sight of Jon through the narrow pathway made by the throng.   
  
“Ahhh, Lord Snow!” He proclaimed and ambled his way in Jon’s direction.  
   
Jon’s unclenched his jaw, his arms still wrapped tightly around Sansa’s waist, his eyes grazed her visage briefly only to see that her gaze had fell from his face once again, staring intently at the random corner of the hall that housed the back up barrels of Ale and Wine. Jon dropped his arms from her reluctantly and made to meet the Imp halfway in the middle of the hall.  
  
“Lannister” Jon announced, his brow furrowed in confusion but he reached his hand out to grasp Tyrion’s nonetheless, the one member of the Lannister household who had ever been kind to him.   
  
“Pardon me, your grace, for the rude interruption, I understand our presence is announced.” Apologized Tyrion.  
  
“Yes I must inquire what the meaning of this is...” said Jon sternly  
  
Tyrion gathered himself up to his full and inconsiderable height.  
  
“Right, down to the business at hand I suppose...” he started just as sternly as Jon. “But before I start I must ask you, with all due respect, if you could call off your guard from my brother’s neck. I daresay he’ll need it in the near future--he is my sworn guard after all.”  
  
Jon turned his gaze upon the oldest Lannister kneeling on the floor surrounded by the angry faces of his cadet men and nodded, signaling the men to lower their weapons. They reluctantly complied, sheathing their swords, throwing dirty looks Jaime’s way as he got heavily to his feet, smiling smugly.  
  
“Did the Queen send you?” Jon asked his eyebrow arched, tone grim.  
  
“No, not necessarily--” started Tyrion  
  
“The Queen is dead.” interjected Jaime, dusting himself off, looking towards Jon.  
  
A collective gasp reverberated across the room as eyes widened all around.  
  
Jon’s hand ran over his beard, taking in the information.  
  
“Is that so?” He inquired “pray tell how?”  
  
“I killed her” continued Jamie unceremoniously. “She made a rather large mess of the capital with wildfire.Took bloody ages to clean up, couldn’t get the smell of soot out of my hair for weeks.” He finished lackadaisically.  
  
More gasps echoed through the hall. Whispers of “queen slayer” fluttered through out the din. Though no one could say they had any love for Queen Cersei Lannister, the manner in which Jaime delivered the information could take anyone aback.  
  
“So as you can see...” cut in Tyrion attempting to bring composure back to his surroundings “We do in fact have important news to deliver to you my Lord... Queen Cersei is indeed dead and a new queen has taken residence on the Iron throne.”  
  
More gasps flurried through the crowd.  
  
“Who is this new Queen?” Asked Jon  
  
“Her name is Daenerys Targaryen. Also known as Daenerys Stormborn, first of her name, Khalessi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains, The Unburnt, and Mother of Dragons. Queen of Mereen, the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Realm and Lady Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms” Continued Tyrion Proudly. “Her name is very long but her message to you is short, My lord...”  
   
“Continue” Said Jon, perplexed.  
  
“I am her hand, my lord, I’ve been at her side since before she sailed across the Narrow Sea to take back her throne. She has taken Kings Landing in Fire and Blood...much like the motto of her great house, She understands that you are here in the north and have been named King. She has no qualm with you or your men and offers a hand of peace, hoping to never plunge the kingdoms into the warfare that tore her from her home in the first place.”  
  
“And what else?” Jon said unfazed at the important titles being spilled to him.  
  
“Yes, my lord...” Tyrion cleared his throat pressing on “She asks for your cooperation in maintaining this peace, you and your men to never seek claim to her throne, and in return, she approves that the North may remain an Independent Kingdom so long as, should ever a foreign enemy from some far reach of the world seek to disrupt the new found peace she has established, that the North will join her in arms when the time calls for it.” Tyrion finished.  
  
Jon furrowed his brow taking in the new information, he made to speak before he was interrupted by the loud cry of Lord Glover  
  
“Why has the Queen not come herself to tell us this news!” Lord Robett cried looking skeptical.  
  
“My good Ser” Started Tyrion irritably “since the dawn of time Kings and Queens have been busy with state affairs, it is not uncommon for them to send an emissary once in a while, plus our Queen is rather warmblooded being the mother of Dragons and all, I’m afraid your chilly abode just would not suit. Besides, I’ve told her of my acquaintanceship with your King, she found it best that I come to stretch the hand of friendship.”  
  
“Friendship!” a voice spat, however this time it was Arya, her eyes still narrowed looking murderous towards Jaime.  
  
“The last time the Lannisters graced us with their presence my little brother lost the use of his legs!”  
  
There was a gasp of outrage that circled the room, vicious glares turned Jaime’s way, he looked uncomfortable as the Lords moved their hands to their swords again. Bran’s face was still blanched. He looked nauseous.   
  
“Yes that is... regrettable...” Started Jaime looking guilty. “ But the old gods and the new have seen fit to take away the use of one of my appendages as well, and my three children. Universal retribution I suppose...” Jamie said cradling the stump on his right arm covered by the heavy golden glove.  
  
“You _suppose?”_ snarled Arya “It was one of your children that took the head of our father!”  
  
“Who is also dead, and all his ridiculous decrees, including my unnecessary union to your sister.” interjected Tyrion “believe me, Princess, he is not missed.”  
  
Another voice spoke up from the crowd, but this time it was the Lady Brienne.  
  
 “If I may, my lords..” she started looking proudly towards Jaime. “The Kingslayer is a changed man, He swore an oath to the Lady Catelyn Stark to bring her daughters to safety. When he was unable to carry out his mission he appointed the office to myself with this very sword.”  
  
She unsheathed Oathkeeper dramatically.  
  
“It was this weapon that allowed me to slay Princess Sansa’s would-be captors and bring her safely to Castle Black to her brother, none of which would have been possible without the action of Ser Jaime. I owe him my life.”   
  
There was a murmur of agreement across the fold.  
   
Jaime looked appreciatively at Brienne. Tormund narrowed his eyes and shifted threateningly toward the oldest Lannister looking slightly annoyed.  
  
“There you have it” Said Tyrion looking relieved at Brienne’s announcement. “We mean no harm and come bearing gifts!”  
  
Tyrion clapped his hands beckoning a squire forward. A young man clad in armor bearing the the crimson head of a three headed dragon ambled forward. A heavy gold blanket covering an object that clinked lightly.  
  
“For Lord Brandon...” Bellowed Tyrion waving Bran down to him. Tormund lifted Bran from his seat towards the main floor. As he approached, Tyrion slipped the covering off the object to reveal a shining set of braces, the steel was dark hued and rippling.  
  
“It was my brother who called for the forging. Him and the Queen stood over the design, the stilts, here...” Tyrion pointed to two slim pieces of metal jutting just above the hip area “can be manipulated by the hands to move the legs in whatever direction you desire. Come, come, let’s have a look shall we?”  
  
Tyrion began unlatching the cuffing of the braces, with the squires help, they fitted them on Bran, the last latch hugging just above his abdomen supporting his back.  
  
“Ahhh, a fine fit” Tyrion said looking pleased.   
  
“This is Valyrian steel...” Said Brienne admiring the metal work.  
  
The crowd ohhed and awed.  
  
“Yes.” continued Tyrion “virtually indestructible, much better than the last riding set I had made for you when you were a boy.”  
  
Bran was placed on his feet, he moved unsteadily at first but clutched the two stilts at his side and stepped his right foot forward effortlessly.   
  
The crowd gasped in amazement and a loud drunken cheer rose up. Meera was tearing up at the high table from happiness.  
  
Tyrion smiled nodding at the crowd. “I see your guests are pleased, my lords, the question now is, are you happy with this gift?” He said to Bran.  
  
Bran looked down at his feet, unmovable since the day he fell from the towers. His eyes welled up from grateful tears.   
  
“These are very fine, Lord Tyrion, I give you my thanks.... And you...Ser Jaime.” He said. Jaime bowed solemnly at Bran’s acknowledgment.  
  
“You think some fancy steel will make us forget your family’s betrayals to House Stark?!” growled Lord Glover still not altogether convinced.  
  
“Yes, speaking of betrayals, your own lord commander betrayed the Nights Watch when he took up with the Wildlings, the very Wildlings who broke down the doors of Winterfell and helped him take it back from the Boltons when you yourself refused to offer up your men when he called. Yet you sit here now enjoying his food and wine. Obviously you’ve put aside your differences, I see no reason why we can’t do the same.” Tyrion retorted hotly.  
  
Lord Robett promptly shut his mouth taking his seat. Looking embarrassed, crossing his arms grudgingly but said no more. Tyrion smirked triumphantly.  
  
“Very good..” Tyrion continued “What say you my liege? Do you agree to Her Majesty’s request?”  
  
Jon, observing the situation at first with severity, took in the happiness he saw in Bran’s face and softened.  
  
“Your gift to my baby brother is appreciated, Lord Tyrion, I have no argument against the dragon queen’s request. As you said, I see no reason why we cannot set aside our differences. You and your party may stay and join us in our revelries, you must be tired from your travels.” Jon stated ushering Tyrion to the high table.  
  
“Always reasonable, my lord..” said Tyrion looking pleased.   
************  
It was the third night of the festivities, The crowd had recovered from the drama of two nights before and resumed in their feasting. The angry men never minded Tyrion who, with his artful way of words, had calmed them into good humor with him. They chose however to completely ignore Jaime who stood guard in front of the tables not partaking in the meal, looking extremely handsome but sullen, head high, ignoring the raucous laughter roaring around him.   
  
The dancing proceeded in tandem with the feasting. Bran sat at the upper table chatting happily with Meera who was admiring his new prosthetics. Brienne who was also in good spirits was being coaxed by Podrick Peyne and Tormund to have another cup of Ale. Arya, who like the men, had taking a liking to the dwarf, attempting to convince him to coat her hunting arrows in Valyrian steel like her brothers new braces.   
  
Sansa sat towards the end of the table looking exceptionally beautiful in a flowing navy blue gown that dipped low in the front, simple pearls still studded in her ears, and her hair was curled loosely around her face again. She was hardly touching her food, instead, playing with Ghost, flicking thick pieces of chicken towards him. A particularly large piece of leg fell a ways away from her and landed at Jamie’s feet.   
  
Jamie spotted the food and knelt, lifting the meat, Ghost trotted towards him sniffing at the chicken hungrily, Jamie smiled and held the leg towards the Wolf, Ghost licked at the meat gnawing the flesh off the bone.  
  
Sansa walked towards them, Jamie bowed.  
  
“My Lady...” he started.  
  
“Apologies, Ser Jaime...” Sansa said softly making to coax Ghost back to her side, however he was too busy licking the flavor from Jaime’s fingers to be interrupted.  
  
“He likes you...” Sansa said eyeing Ghost with light humor. Jamie stood, looking up from the beast. “No I don’t believe so, he’s just hungry” Jamie replied matter-of-factly.  
  
“He’s a Direwolf, Ser. If he didn’t like you, you’d have no hand to hold out that chicken.” retorted Sansa smartly.  
  
Jamie laughed. “I suppose you’re right.”   
  
Behind them the music picked up pace, the lyres plucking rapidly. Jaime’s ears perked up tilting his head to and fro.  
  
“This is a jolly tune, the musicians are surprisingly skilled here in the north...Do you dance, my lady?” He asked Sansa casually. She regarded him brittlely, the humor fading from her face  
  
“I can’t say I’m really in the mood--”  
  
“Oh come now, it would be a waste of the evening not to partake just a little” Jaime cajoled, stretching his left hand out towards Sansa, she stared at his hand cautiously but ultimately resolved to place her hand in his, letting him lead her to the middle of the floor. Leaving Ghost behind to gnaw happily on the chicken bone.  
  
Jaime placed his good hand on the small of her back, Sansa wrapped her fingers around the cold metal of his gold prosthetic as they moved seamlessly across the floor. Jaime moved very well, his feet anticipating every beat and change in key before it even happened. Guests smiled at Sansa’s beauty, others whispered as they observed the handsome Lannister gliding across the floor with the princess.  
  
“That was a very kind thing you did for my brother...” Sansa said breaking the silence between them “having those braces forged for him...”    
  
“Yes well, It was the least I could do considering...” He said, his eyes carried the heavy look of shame in them. Sansa noticed.  
  
“I’m sorry for your loss...” She continued. Jaime looked down at her quizzically.  
  
“Cersei...” Sansa continued “She was quite the evil bitch, but it couldn’t’ve been easy I imagine, taking the life of your own sister.” She finished bluntly.  
  
Jaime regarded her with surprise, this was not the girl he remembered, the girl who only wanted things to be beautiful and minded her manners religiously. This girl was hardened with a sadness in her face he could only just make out.  
  
“Thank you...” Jaime murmured slightly unsure of how to respond.  
  
Sansa spun out then back into him, the both of them stepping back and into each other. Falling into silence once again. This time it was Jaime who broke it.  
  
“You grown quite beautiful since the last time I saw you, the north agrees with you better than the south.”   
  
“I find I do quite well anywhere I’m not being forced to marry sadistic psychopaths, my Lord” Sansa replied lazily. Jamie chuckled, he found he appreciated Sansa’s wit.  
  
“And you?” Sansa spoke on “Do you find the north agreeable?”   
  
“Well...” Jaime began “when a dozen swords aren’t pressed against my throat I find it quite nice, thank you. Except sadly I expect I’ll never get a tan.”  
  
Unexpectedly to Sansa, his retort brought upon a laugh, the first genuine laugh she’d had in days. She was surprised at how good it felt. Her melodious chortle rang through the hall, all the way up to the high table where Jon sat dourly entertaining the lady Erena’s small talk.  
  
 His ears followed the sound, his eyes falling upon Sansa and the Kingslayer floating across the hall gracefully. The sudden pang of jealousy seeped through his core, his expression turned from false courtesy to a murderous glare. His jaw clenched, his grip on his goblet of summerwine tightened.   
  
The lady Erena, clad in a crimson gown with a ruby choker, followed his gaze that dropped away from her in mid sentence to the middle of the hall where her eyes rested on the princess and the kingslayer. She didn’t know what to do, only that she wanted Jon’s attention back on herself.  
  
“Perhaps a dance, your grace?” Erena said in sickeningly sweet tones “the music is so pleasant tonight...”  
  
Jon’s eyes, still brimming with malice reluctantly broke away from his sister and Jaime. Suddenly realizing Erena’s existence again.  
  
“Yes...” he said slowly “after you my lady.” He stood up, taking Erena’s hand, guiding them to the floor. His hand grasped the back of her waist as he started the steps abruptly, weaving rapidly between the crowd as the lyres plucked furiously. His eyes still murderous, fixed firmly on Jaime and Sansa.   
  
The crowd clapped in unison, the men spun the ladies out and in and Erena and Jon inched closer in the direction of Jaime and Sansa. A pause in the music allowed another laugh to ring around the hall and Jon’s eyes fell on Sansa’s loose auburn curls tossing back in laughter.  
  
They were only a foot away now, Erena sultry stares still failing to capture the Kings attention. Sansa’s head slowly made it’s way back up from her laughter when her eyes fell on Erena’s crimson gown and Jon’s silently savage glare.  
  
The mirth slowly faded from her face as their eyes locked.   
  
The song finally ended, applause sounded across the room, and Jaime raised Sansa’s arm up, his lips brushing a kiss against the back of her hand.   
  
 Sansa swallowed hard, her heart raced. Jon’s silent fury growing.  
  
He suddenly regretted not letting those dozen swords slit the kingslayers throat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bran can walk again! Tyrion ftw! But beware Greeks bearing gifts, in this case: sexy Jaime a.k.a Mr. Steal Your Girl. Dark Jon is on the rise via those homicidal glares and Sansa can feel it. Meanwhile Erena is getting suspicious. Only more drama and angst from here! Stay tuned! Hope you all enjoy(ed).


	6. Switch.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa are desperately in love but Jon can’t shake the guilt he feels of their blood ties. Their happiness is road blocked by Jon’s stark sense of morality as well as the voices in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa grows more affectionate towards Jaime as the Solstice celebrations continue. Much to Jon's displeasure. He wants her back, and nothing, not even Sansa herself will get in his way.

  
On the fifth night of the celebrations, Sansa had finally re-acclimated herself to eating however not in large quantities. A bite here, a nibble there, but when lemon cakes were served she was able to work one all the way down. Jaime had moved from the front of the tables to a seat at the end where Sansa now took up residence. She had purposefully placed herself there the past few nights hoping to put as much distance in between herself and Jon’s glares.  
  
Even with the the multitude of visitors, only Jaime’s company had been able to bring Sansa a surprising sense of contentment. He made her laugh, which was like morphine to the pain still coursing through her body. Her mind flashed back to that morning...  
  
_‘Don’t do this to me! Don’t do this to us!  
_  
_‘I won’t be able to look at myself in the mirror afterwards...’  
  
‘I love you...’  
_  
“Lady Sansa?” Jamie’s voice rang out above her thoughts. He was staring at her with a flagon of wine in his hands. “another perhaps?” motioning towards her goblet.  
  
“Yes.. of course” Sansa replied holding up her cup, letting Jaime fill it. It was her fourth glass and Sansa was holding her drink quite well to her surprise and the Kingslayers.  
  
“I see you like wine” He amused. At that moment She heard a cackle from the end of the table and looked over to see the dark haired Erena, wearing a gown of deep plum and a long necklace of amethysts, and her family near Jon and Tyrion laughing at a joke they must’ve just told. She knew it was unfounded, but something about that girl filled Sansa with hate. Sansa raised her cup to her lips and drank heavily from it sucking it dry.  
  
“It helps.” She replied looking up at Jaime wiping her mouth on the back of her hand, suddenly feeling light.  
  
At that moment, a group of girls passed in front of them giggling and eyeing Jaime with coy eyes. “Ladies” he said nodding politely to each of them with the true courtesy of a gentleman. Sansa smirked at the girls then at him.  
  
“This happens very often to you doesn’t it?” she said waving at them as they passed but before he answered another voice answered for him  
  
“It does indeed.” said Tyrion, He himself had had a good amount of wine goblet still in hand, a pretty northern maid on the other. “I haven’t spoken to you all night!” He bellowed pointing a finger at Jaime “and lady Sansa, you look as radiant as ever” He finished, giving an uneven bow to Sansa who in fact looked ravishing, dawning a silk ivory gown that criss-crossed at the back and hung loosely to her figure accentuating every curve. Her hair was half french braided at the top of her head and  hung in loose curls down her back.  
  
“Thank you, Lord Tyrion.” She said, humored, with a courteous tilt of her head.”  
  
“Instead of hiding over here at the end of the table, you two should join us in the dance! Everyone is heading to the floor now.” Tyrion said pointing to the middle of the room, sloshing his wine about so that a bit of it spilled on his chest.  
  
He was right, the crowd was thickening around the middle of the hall as the sound of pewter plates and cutlery clanked. The music picked up, playing an upbeat tune. Sansa could make out her younger sister Arya hopping about with a young squire, Davos gliding around with a lady from House Manderly, Bran was successfully doing a simple two step with Meera and to her surprise, Brienne and Tormund moving clumsily across the floor. Sansa couldn't help but think a fair amount of ale must’ve been involved.  
  
“Come come now!” Tyrion commanded, pulling the maid down and giving her a sloppy kiss as he turned his back on his brother and Sansa and ambled blindly to the floor.  
  
“Well I suppose that’s an order...” Jamie said holding back laughter “Shall we?” he asked, holding his hand out to Sansa. She quickly took another sip of wine and placed her hand in his, following him to the floor.  
  
Sansa had never seen the North this joyous before, all cheers and song and drunken mirth. She wished she could genuinely partake, but the only reason she felt mildly festive was a quarter due to Jaime’s presence and three fourths due to the summerwine.  
  
Jaime placed his hand on the small of Sansa’s back and began to weave through the crowd, the dance was fervent, the pace was fast, Sansa could feel the heat rising in her skin, she suddenly felt glad that Jaime was holding her close. She pressed her head to his chest and closed her eyes letting the world fall away from her, Jaime looked down at her with concern, but switched his right arm to her waist running his left across her back, pressing his lips to the top of her head.  
  
Sansa felt good, her eyes still closed, allowing herself to fall out of herself, for one moment, just one...  
  
_’I love you’  
  
’Let me resurrect you’  
__  
'...my love'_  
  
Her eyes stayed closed, this felt so good.  
  
And it lasted all of five minutes.  
  
The dance switched, the pace still fervent but people now wove in an out of eachothers clutches. Sansa felt her body break free from Jaime’s embrace. She was being thrown about the room, switching from partner to partner. She let herself be led blindly around the fold, her eyes half lidded, a swirl of color flashing before her eyes before they met black. She stilled, the arms around the small of her back were strong and firm.  
  
_‘Let me resurrect you’_  
  
Her eyes fluttered fully open, blue gaze met stormy grey.  
  
Jon’s brooding face looked down at hers.  
  
Sansa’s breath caught in her throat. He fixed her with the same silent stare he’d given her the night before.    
  
She was pulled from his arms, and back into Jaime’s. He whirled her around, then back into him. She looked over his shoulder and saw Jon’s hand on the small of the back of a plum dress, his eye’s still locked on hers. Her heart pulsed with venom.  
  
Another partner switched and she was in the arms of of Ser Gawen,  
  
Switch.  
  
Into the arms of Jaime.  
  
Switch.  
  
Into the arm’s of Jon. He raised his hand and ran his thumb across the arch of her cheekbone. Sansa’s eyes closed.  
  
_‘It’s not right’  
  
‘you’re my blood’  
  
‘this is finished’  
_  
‘ _I love you’  
_  
Her eyes snapped open, and slapped Jon’s hand away from her.  
  
Switch  
  
Into the arms of Jaime. She clutched to him a little tighter, her eyes looking over his shoulder once more. Jon was dancing with Erena, his jaw was clenched, his eyes were a squall, he looked murderous again. It was too much. Sansa broke away from Jaime abruptly.  
  
“I’m sorry, excuse me ” she choked out, jostling through the crowd nearly stumbling. She pushed through the doors, leaving the sound of laughter and din behind her. she climbed up a set of stone steps, turned right at a tapestry of a Weirwood tree and propelled through her chamber doors. Finally letting frustrated and anguished tears spill down her face. Sansa clutched at her heart, rubbing her hand over her chest trying to steady her breathing, she felt the heavy pulse of wine at her temples and took down her braid letting her curls fall loosely over her breasts.  
  
Sansa closed her eyes, the world silenced for a split second when  
  
Boom!  
  
Her chamber doors burst open. Sansa whipped her head around to see Jon, standing in her doorway his face just as severe as ever.  
  
“What are you doing here?” Sansa croaked, her heart still racing, her eyes swollen.  
  
Jon walked slowly towards her  
  
“Get out.” she whispered  
  
Just a few feet now  
  
“Please, leave _”_  
  
His face was an inch from hers, his fingers weaved their way through her newly loosened locks, his other hand rested just above her hip.  
  
“I don’t want to see you” Sansa whispered defiantly her eyes still brimming with tears.  
  
“And who would you like to see instead? The Kingslayer?” Jon whispered back, his tone venomous.  
  
“That’s none of your business.” Sansa spat back.  
  
“Aye, though it is...” Jon hissed, dangerously calm. “What my family does in my home is more my business than anyone’s.”  
  
“Is that so?” Sansa challenged, her face turning hard  
  
“Indeed...” Jon replied his tone still icy “You waltz around the halls scantily clad in your thin gowns, barely looking at anyone but him, an outsider, letting him touch you... it’s unbecoming.”  
  
Sansa was outraged, the fire in her blood was accelerated by the ferment of the wine coursing through her veins. she spoke boldly.  
  
“An outsider?!” she said incredulous “It was _you_ who raised the swords from his neck!”  
  
“Aye and perhaps I should have spared my mercy.” Jon retorted composed but menacingly.  
  
“If those were your true sentiments then why did you embrace his brother in friendship? If it were not true you should not have done so in front of everyone. Our name should be House Hypocrisy instead of Stark.” She growled, the heat rising in her cheeks.  
  
”I need not explain myself to you Sansa.” Jon replied evenly.  
  
”I would that you’d try, otherwise leave me be!”  
  
”Yes, leave you be so you can consort with a man who crippled our brother, who killed his own sister! The Lannisters know nothing but ambition--”  
  
_"Ambition?!”_ Sansa snarled pushing away from Jon, looking scandalized “I am alive because of him!”  
  
”You are alive because of Theon and lady Brienne!” Jon snarled back  
  
”Who would not have found me if Jaime hadn’t appointed her the office! She said so herself and don’t tell me you’ve wept for Cersei, that savage bitch had it coming, I hope she died screaming...” Sansa’s anger was bubbling now, her tongue loose and dauntless.  
  
“Sansa...” Jon started  
  
“No!” Sansa screamed, Her eyes began to brim with tears again her heart began to race.  
  
“You’re audacious, Jon! You _dare!_ You stand here, in my quarters, you speak of ambition and point the finger at me as if somehow _you’ve_ been betrayed!”  
  
_‘It’s a sin’  
_  
_‘we cannot’  
_  
_‘this is finished’  
_  
Sansa’s throat began to pain her with the feel of constriction, she was fighting back tears.  
  
“ _Ambition”_ She spat “Perhaps you should have another look at yourself and that Glover whore! Every move she makes reeks of calculated furtherance.” Sansa finished bitterly, eyeing Jon with loathing.  
  
Sansa’s words cut, a wave a rage ran through him. He advanced on her quickly, his eyes a storm. He pushed her up against the wall, each hand bracing themselves beside her head against the stone, his full lips an inch from hers, curved downward.  
  
”She is no one” Jon whispered dangerously. His lips lingered above hers, Sansa closed her eyes, trying to still her breaths and mute the echoes in her head.  
  
_’I’m sorry’  
_  
_‘I’ve indulged in this far too long’  
_  
_‘This must end’  
_  
Her eyes snapped open, tears fell from her eyes, anger throttled through her. She attempted to push Jon away, he was too strong, she barely jostled him, he smiled at her vain attempts, hands still braced on the wall, his mouth inching closer to hers.  
  
Their lips met. Jon pressed his hard against hers. She was a drug, and he was in withdrawal.  
  
”Jon--” Sansa attempted in between breaths. His lips were soft, his mouth tasted of sweet summerwine. She wanted this, Gods, she wanted this, but she remembered the words...  
  
_’I’m sorry’  
  
’I won’t  be able to look at myself in the mirror afterwards’  
_  
_‘I’ve indulged in this far too long’  
_  
_‘This must end’_   
  
A hard slap hit Jon around the face. Their lips broke contact. Unfazed, his eyes opened, grey eyes bore into Tully blue. Sansa looked unabashed. Her eyes fierce.  
  
”I hate you.” she breathed.  
  
A deafening silence hung between them like a pendulum. Sansa’s bottom lip trembled.  
  
“Prove it.” Jon whispered, his lips hovered above hers coaxing her threateningly.   
  
Sansa’s eyes widened. “Jon wha--”  
  
“Prove it.” Jon said again. If she wanted to punish him, Jon thought, he’d play along.  
  
“Prove. It.” Jon repeated, accentuating every syllable, slipping his hand up Sansa’s silk gown, pressing his hardness against her, taking her smell of lavender and lemon in. He ground himself on her softness.  
  
“Jon stop this... please.” She moaned aroused against her will. She wanted to be angry, wanted to scream at him, to tell him how much she wished he leave her alone, how, if she’d known it would hurt this much, that she’d never pressed her lips to his that night they took back Winterfell.  
  
But she couldn’t.  
  
Jon had this iron hold on her. She couldn’t breath, she couldn’t move. Just by the sight of him, her head stopped working. She simply was not capable of anything resembling reason.  
  
“No, we can’t-- _uhhh”_ Sansa moaned,   
  
Jon’s lips were still hovering just above hers, he was slipping her silks from her nethers now, skillfully and dexterously. his other hand had lifted her leg up and wrapped it slowly around his waist.  
  
“Prove. it” he whispered again against her lips.  
  
She was wet. So wet. Jon slipped his fingers between her folds and glided them along, tortuously. Sansa shook with arousal, her breathing turned ragged. Her hands slipped into his raven curls, her grip tightened painfully bracing herself, her eyes tightly closed in agonizing pleasure.  
  
“I... I...hate you” She sobbed, and she crashed her lips into his hungrily, she wanted to hurt him. Wanted to make him _feel_   the need that had haunted her since that morning.  
  
Jon smiled into the kiss, his tongue slipping into her mouth. His fingers picking up the pace the feel of her soaking warmth making his member swell rock hard. Sansa’s leg clutched feebly to his waist, she was close now barely able to suck in air.  
  
Jon’s erection grew painful, he growled in aroused frustration as Sansa’s grip grew tighter in his hair, he rapidly drew his fingers from her cunt, his soaked hand cupping her buttock throwing the other leg around so she was suspended against him in mid air. He undid his trousers ferociously, letting his length spring loose, ripping the delicate silk of her gown so from her belly button to her cunt she was exposed and thrusted into her.  
  
They both moaned euphorically in unison and Jon drove into her hard and fast. She bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. Jon groaned in ecstasy, causing him to change his pace slamming into her rapidly. Hiis cock slapping against her wetness, the sound turning her on.  
  
 She could focus on nothing but the pleasure, she couldn't breath, couldn’t think, all she knew is that she wanted Jon to pound her into oblivion.  
  
“Yessss, ugh gods yesss” Sansa cried eyes brimming with tears of pleasure. this felt so good. So right.  
  
Jon didn’t care that he was thrusting himself mindlessly into his sister, didn’t care at that moment that they were blood. That they were spilled from the same seed. He wanted her. He _needed_ her.   
  
'SI _CKLING!' the voice hissed  
_  
She was his.  
  
_'WRETCH!’_  
  
No one else’s.  
  
' _MADNESS!’  
_  
This is where he belonged.  
  
‘VILE!’  
  
Inside her.  
  
_‘SHAME!’_  
  
And gods help anybody who stood in his way.  
  
His thickness ached from the choking grip her tightness had on it. Sansa’s eyes became unfocused, lost in the intensity of his thrusts. Her breath hitched her back rubbed roughly against the wall as Jon pushed her harder against it.  
  
Jon broke the kiss, still pounding hard, his lips hover over hers plump flushed and bruised as they hung open gasping for air.  
  
“Say it.” He whispered.  
  
“Uh.. unhhh"  
  
“Say it."he said again  
  
Slam  
  
Slam  
  
Slam

 _"Ohhh my gods...."_  
  
Slam  
  
Slam  
  
Slam  
  
“Fuckkkkk.....”  
  
“Say. It.” His cock was now drowned, coated in wetness. Her breathy pants morphing into guttural grunts.  
  
“Jon.. uhhhh... please...UH!"  
  
“SAY. IT.” Jon growled  
  
Sansa’s body bucked, Her back arched, Jon still thrusted into her wildly, her world blindingly turned to white.  
  
_“I love you.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dark Jon is here! and he's really brought the kink ;). I really liked writing this chapter, just because of it's intensity and the side of Jon we've never really seen before. Now I know some of you aren't really fan's of Jaime (especially him being in the north) or his growing relationship with Sansa, but never fear! Jon and Sansa belong together, (and clearly) always find a way no matter how dirty it is. Stay tuned! Sex almost always complicates things. Thank you to everyone who's been reading thus far, by the way! Hope you all enjoy(ed).


	7. Melee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa are desperately in love but Jon can’t shake the guilt he feels of their blood ties. Their happiness is roadblocked by Jon’s stark sense of morality and the voices in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of Jon and Sansa's night together results in a multitude of complications.

The next morning, Jon awoke is Sansa’s chambers, the light from the sunrise fell above the canopy of her fourposter bed. The sunlight was dripping across Sansa’s face casting an angelic glow over her red hair that fanned in tousled curled across the pillows. They both lay over the sheets of the bed, Sansa was still dawning the ivory dress of the night before, however it was now a robe of rags from Jon’s aggressions, ripped and torn in strips all the way up to her breasts that now lay plump and exposed as the dress hung open.  
  
Jon’s eyes washed over her naked body. The body he claimed last night. A sweet sense of satisfaction overcame him taking in the sight of her, the hickeys on her neck that trailed down to her belly, the look of her lips still flushed and plump, the area right over her pelvic bone still bruised from the firm grip he had on it. Even exhausted, disheveled and her hair a nest she was still the most gorgeous woman he had ever laid eyes on.  
  
She was his.  
  
Jon stretch out a muscled arm and wrapped it around Sansa,pulling her in one motion on top of him. Sansa groaned and Jon nuzzled  his face into her neck, breathing her in. They lay there, still. Sansa’s hair falling over Jon’s shoulder, her arms laying lank beside her, Jon rubbing his calloused hands up and down her back kissing her neck over and over.  
  
“Mmmmm….” Sansa moaned, her eyes fluttering from open to closed “Jon…”  
  
He latched his lips onto her neck forming a new love bite. He moved his fingers to her rags, slipping them off easily, they dropped to the side leaving Sansa just as nude as he. She locked her arms underneath his anchoring herself to him, kissing his cheek in response.  
  
“Good morning” Jon whispered against her neck, breathing in her scent of lavender and lemon.  
  
"More sleep would make it better...” Sansa crooned sleepily.  
  
Jon chuckled and rocked her side to side teasingly. Her hair flowing over his face and away from it in the motions.  
  
“Jon... mmmm... I’m _exhausted.”_ shemewled referring to their relentless night of passion. Jon had taken her five times that night, twice against the wall, once on the floor, and twice on the bed. Her hair was in knotted curls come morning thanks to the sweat that poured from her scalp and his fingers running through them all throughout the evening.  
  
Jon pressed his lips to her neck again ignoring her whispering whines.  
  
“It’s morning, my love. Wake...” he whispered against the nape of her neck.  
  
Sansa stubbornly laid still in protest, her lips still on Jon’s neck, her eyes closed, her only movement was her chest rising and falling as she tried to fall back asleep atop of him  
  
“Hmmm... you need my help” Jon whispered slyly. and in one movement, slipped his member into her.  
  
Sansa’s eyes snapped open, she gasped in pleasure. Jon raised his body as well as hers up so they both sat upright. He moved his large hands to her buttocks and moved her up on down on him, slowly at first savoring the feel of her cunt on his prick, the faster and faster until she moved frantically on him, without his aid.  
  
“Ooooh my--ahhhh....” She crooned, silently, then louder and louder, her groans growing more acutely with every thrust.  
  
Jon bit into her shoulder as she ran her nails down his back, scratching him, scarring him, claiming him.  
  
She rolled her head back in euphoria, her mouth parted open as she gasped for breath, Jon raised a hand from her bottom and latched it to her chin, turning her face down to meet his lips. They kissed hungrily.  
  
Sansa couldn’t think again, the only thing flooding her mind was how hot her nethers were starting to feel, how wet she had become in such a short span of time, how turned on she was by Jon’s thick meat plunging in and out of her wetness.  
  
“Jon... ahhh.. jon.. I’m.. ohhhh.. I’m ...” Sansa gasped  
  
“What is it?” Jon whispered against her lips  
  
“I’m...oooohhhhhh....”  
  
“Tell me...”  
  
He pressed her hips down to his member, so she was no longer bouncing up and down on him but now grinding against him. So close to each other it felt like they were fused. Her clit rubbing against the area right above his shaft. And then it happened, he hit her peak, her back arched, a strangled cry escaped her lips, babbling nonsense.  
  
Jon smiled as she clutched at him shuddering and shaking. He anchored her to him steadying her body as it convulsed and writhed. He knew if she had any ounce of energy left, it was gone now. Or so he thought.  
  
“Sleep now, love.” He whispered.  
  
“No...” Sansa mewled when she had finally gained composure. She opened her eyes and kissed Jon’s lips  
  
“Again...” She moaned licking at them.  
  
“Againnnn....” she repeated moving slowly again on his cock still sheathed inside her.  
  
Jon grinned, locking his lips to hers. He obliged her with no argument.  
  
She was fully awake as Jon took her two more times that morning.  
***************************************************************************  
The dining hall was full and boisterous as the fold gathered to break their fast. Jon and Sansa had walked hand in hand to the hall and reluctantly broke their grip before they’d opened the doors. The crowd cheered and bowed to Jon, men rising as well to kiss Sansa’s hand. They took their seats at the high table.  
  
Everyone was present, including the Glovers who were sat at the high table alongside the Starks. Bran and Arya were arguing about his braces, Arya insisted there was a lever hidden to make him taller. Davos and Lyanna Mormont were chatting animatedly with Ser Glover about something and Brienne was teaching Tormund the proper way to hold his cutlery. Lady Erena, who sat at Jon’s left, was wearing robes of deep plum looking very elegant even though it was only morning. She gave Sansa a smirk that made her slightly uncomfortable. Sansa ignored her.  
  
For the first time in days, Sansa sat next to Jon on his right side, plates of bacon and black bread, kippers, boiled egg, hot tea and beer were placed in front of them. Jon, famished, absent mindedly began to tear off a peace of black bread dipped in honey. Sansa smiled at him and also for the first time in days started hungrily on her breakfast as well.  
  
Tyrion, who’d been proving himself quite the social butterfly was sitting at a seat beneath the high table, conversing with some of the swordsmen from House Cerwyn before he rose and ambled on his short legs to the dias where the rest of the noble families sat.  
  
“My Lord King!” He exclaimed “good morn’, you look well!” he said as he braced Jon on the arm.  
  
“Thank you, Lord Tyrion” Jon said amiably  
  
“We were told that as the festivities come to a close that there will be a tourney, ” said Tyrion brandishing a cup of beer  
  
“Yes a simple melee, archery, horse races, we’ve not the time for a joust”  Jon replied.  
  
“Excellent, in that case my brother has got a foot up on the rest of the competition, he’s out with the smith sharpening his sword even now.”  
  
“Oh?” Sansa said looking up from her tea at Tryion “Is Ser Jaime competing then? I was not aware he’d be taking part...”  
  
“Yes..” Tyrion replied “Quite the appetite for a good duel, He could not resist the opportunity to engage apparently.”  
  
“And has he had the opportunity or appetite to break his fast? It’s so early...” Sansa started looking at Tyrion slightly concerned, not realizing    
Jon going stiff beside her.  
  
“I’m sure Ser Jaime will eat when he so desires.” interrupted Jon softly but with a hard note to his voice.  
  
Sansa looked at Jon who was lazily leaning back on the chair staring straight at her. She smiled and let the matter go but while Jon and Tyrion continued their discussion, she slipped three pieces of her bacon and a large piece of bread in some cloth and into her cloak pocket.  
*****************  
The sun was shining in the north, no clouds were visible in the sky and the games were in full swing. Archery was taking place in the fields on the far side of the castle, Arya had joined in the competition and true to form, had decimated her rivals splitting theirs with her own arrows through straight into the bulls-eyes.  
  
As the men were preparing for the sword melee shining their armor for the glory of their houses, flexing their muscles in shameless demonstrations of hyper masculinity, Sansa spotted Jaime in a thin linen shirt and leather trousers. He had one foot hiked up on an anvil while he sharpened his sword. She noticed that his muscled chest was peaking through the fabric at the neck, for a man not particularly gracing the delicate threshold of youth he was in very very good shape.  
  
“Good day, Ser Jaime” Sansa said smiling as she walked towards him. Jaime turned and a smile crept up his lips as he laid his sword down to greet her.  
  
“It is, isn’t? Not a cloud in sight, I’d never thought I’d see the day this far north of Kings Landing” he said jovially. “You look...very well, My lady, I’m glad to see it, you looked rather distraught last night...” He continued, bowing to her.  
  
“Yes... a find day for the games..” Sansa replied not completely acknowledging his compliment, or his concern, shifting in her cloak conspicuously in the hopes that Jon’s bites were not visible above at her collar. “We missed you at breakfast” She continued forcing a change of topic.  
  
“Yes... well I find that I’ve enjoyed a good amount of the robust servings at your families tables, a good melee will help me burn the stones I’ve gained, I wish not to follow in my late brother-in-laws heavy heavy footsteps, you see.”  
  
“Well forgive me, but I’m afraid I’ve come to sully your attempts” Sansa laughed as she pulled the bread and bacon she stowed away from her cloak pocket.   
  
“Sustenance, good Ser” she joked, handing the pouch to him “One can’t fight on an empty stomach, and perhaps an extra stone or two will give you an advantage over the competition.”   
  
Jaime looked genuinely pleased at Sansa’s thoughtfulness, as he took the pouch from her and bit into the contents.  
  
“I suppose it would be rude to refuse... fat and happy it is” He muffled in between bites of bacon. “Thank you, Sansa”  
  
“You’re welcome” She amused, her blue eyes sparkling with mirth  
  
“I assume you’ll be watching the games then?” He asked now tearing off a piece of bread with his teeth  
  
A crowd started forming around the small arena of Winterfell as they spoke, the voices growing louder as the houses took their seats in the stands.  
  
“I suppose I will be now” Sansa shouted above the din gesturing to the crowd “Good luck, Ser Jaime!” she called out as she made her way to the stands.  
  
The area was packed, Sansa marveled silently at just how many visitors graced Winterfell, all cheers and early drunkenness. She took her place at a seat in the main box that lay at the front of the arena with Bran, Davos, Brienne, Tyrion, Meera, Arya, and Lyanna. Lady Erena and her family, much to Sansa’s displeasure, sat in the box adjacent to theirs, separate but close enough to make conversation.   
  
White haired Lord Wyman stood before the fold and with a bold proud voice, began to announce the start of the event.  
  
“My lords... My ladies, Welcome to the Northern Solstice Melee!”  
  
A great cheer roared from the din, whooping and stomping abounded in drunken anticipation.  
  
“Our brave competitors join us from all the houses in the noble north... and some others...”  
  
Sansa smirked, he was obviously talking about Jaime.  
  
“The winner will be determined when every other competitor has been knocked down to the ground and made to yield. The last man standing will be the victor. And now! I present to you, your champions!”  
  
From the right and the left side of the arena, the men filed in, Long armed and broad backed men from House Manderly, Stocky men from Cerwyn and Mazin, Burly men from House Reed and Glover, including Ser Gawen and finally two more men brought up the rear, Ser Jaime wearing his gold form fitting armor and Jon, wearing a sole black breast plated vest, one muscled arm exposed while the other was sheathed in netted mail, His hair was pulled tightly back in a knot. Both of them walked into the arena to deafening noise, Jon’s signature brood was replaced occasionally with a smile and wave to the crowd. Jaime, a seasoned veteran at tourney melee’s, was doing the same.  
  
Sansa clutched the arm of her chair, as her family roared in approval at Jon’s appearance around her, she’d noticed Jon’s absence in the box but hadn’t realized it was due to his desire to compete.   
  
The combatants had begun circling the arena, the strapping lads proudly approaching the stands accepting favors from giggling young maids. Jaime and Jon were weaving out of the clutches of the classless women who reached for them, working all the way to the main boxes where Sansa and the rest sat.  
  
Jon and Jaime stood in front of the main box. In that moment, Both Sansa and Jon locked eyes and made instinctive, minute movements towards each other before remembering themselves. Sansa reached for her favors tucked in her cloak and stood to present them, her red hair billowing about whimsically in the wind, before she even had the chance to consider inappropriately placing them in her brothers hand, a deep plum arm reached out before hers in the box below and dropped a crimson handkerchief in Jon’s grip. The crowed 'ahhhed' in approval as lady Erena stood regally. Her family smiling proudly.  
  
“May fortune’s lips smile upon you, my liege” She announced silkily.  
  
Jon bowed to her and tucked her favors in his breastplate. Sansa could feel the heat rising in her cheeks and bitterness of bile crawling up her throat but she recovered quickly, looking away from the pair maintaining a stoic face.   
  
Jaime stepped forward and bowed to Sansa his golden hair fell forward over his aquiline nose. “My lady...” he started. Sansa was slightly surprised Jaime would even ask for a favor at all, let alone one from her but considering she was the closest thing to a comrade he had garnered in the north that whole week, she stood proud and handed him a silver handkerchief. He took the kerchief from her and brushed his lips on the back of Sansa’s hand.  
  
She closed her eyes briefly at the feel, his lips were warm against the chill biting at Sansa’s hand from the cool air around them. She opened her eyes a moment later to see the crowd also ‘ahh-ing’ but in the way one would ‘ahh’ at the acknowledgment of a secret come to light or a scandal of some sort. Jon’s jaw ticked, his countenance shifted from classically broody to murderous again. Still the cheers would not die as the victors made their way to the center of the arena.  
  
When all the fighters were in the middle of the grounds, Lord Manderly’s loud voice shouted “Fight!” and the Melee roared to life.  
  
The minute swords were unsheathed, It was clear that none of the other fighters had the prowess in battle that Jon or Jaime did. Easily, Jon had knocked down five men in the first two minutes.   
  
“I yield!” they all shouted, weapons lay scattered across the floor and eyes began to blacken.  
  
Jaime was taking on a long armed and burly blonde with a thick beard from house Manderly who was sporting a spiked club. He ducked twice, avoiding the mans powerful swings, skated to the left swiftly and parried a blow with his sword, putting the man to the ground with little effort.  
  
Jon and Jaime continued their decimation of the northern men, knocking one out every minute, the arena started to look like a game of dominoes.  
  
“Your brother is a very fine fighter.” Came a voice to Sansa’s right. She broke her gaze away from the brawl to turn her head to Erena who’s green eyes were fixed on her.  
  
“Yes... he’s had much experience.” Sansa replied fighting to keep the ice from her voice.  
  
Jon had cut one man on the arm then wrestled him swiftly to the ground in an inescapable headlock. The man pounded his hand on the ground as he gasped for air choking out his surrender.  
  
“Very strong as well...” Erena continued, clapping her hands at Jon’s last move. “It’s as if he could do this in his sleep! I’m sure many women would love a chance to be courted by him... don’t you agree my lady?” Erena finished slyly.   
  
Sansa’s eyes did not break contact with the arena or Jon’s swings, she had the disturbing feeling that Erena was trying to coax something out of her.   
  
“Well, he is a King.” Sansa said curtly, stating the obvious so that it might be obvious to Erena that she was not interested in pointless conversation. She didn’t get the message or perhaps she did, but didn’t care.  
  
“Yes, a King... I’m sure it would be quite easy to fall for him too..to love him...perhaps only one night, then one night could turn to...many... Isn’t that right, lady Sansa?”  
  
Sansa didn’t have a chance to answer before her heart skipped a beat. She slowly turned from the games to lock eyes with Erena who was now wearing a triumphant smirk on her face.   
  
She knew.  
  
Sansa knew she knew.  
  
And Erena knew Sansa knew she knew.  
  
Her face was betraying her intent to remain unreadable. She had a savage desire to drag Erena into the pit with her, grab the fallen Manderly’s spiked club and smash her head in. There was a loud cheer that broke Sansa’s gaze, returning her eyes back to the Arena.  
  
The pit was dwindling in numbers now. Jaime was rapidly dodging the furious punches of a Cerwyn knight, he stepped forward suddenly and  gave two swift slices to the knight legs, rendering him immobile. Jaime made to give him another blow to the chest with his sword but the man screamed “I yield!” before Jaime could finish him off.  
  
The Arena’s volume had increased to a deafening din. In the pit stood two lone competitors, Jaime and Jon. They’d simultaneously taken out every other man, Jon all the men to the right and Jaime every man to the left.    
  
When they faced each other there was a momentary stall.  
  
Jon cricked his neck and flexed his sword arm, his breath billowing in white wisps from his lips in the cold north air. His face held a calm gaze with undertones of loathing. The man in front of him was the man who made Sansa laugh... the man who was not him, the man whose lips had brushed the back of her hand, the hand that left scratch marks on his back that very morning.   
  
Jaime twirled his sword in his left hand his face gracing his signature smirk.   
  
They lunged at each other in unison. The force of their swords clashed with a spark, they pressed their weapons together with furious force, teeth gritting in the struggle, then rapidly reeled back and lunged again, swords sparking, threatening to ignite.   
  
Their swords broke contact only to clash again, and again, and again. Jon and Jaime were attacking each other relentlessly and seamlessly, there could be no doubt in anyone’s mind watching that the pair of them were well seasoned in battle. Reading eachother’s moves with psychic accuracy. When one charged the other ducked, when one jabbed the other parried. Jon twisted and attacked Jaime’s assumed weak side, the Kingslayer blocked and thrusted only to have Jon catch the sword in the crook of his mailed arm, jerking it loose with strength of his bicep, sending it clattering to the floor.  
  
Jaime recovered quickly, blocking another sword jab with the iron of his arm plate. He reeled back and shifted making to reach for his disarmed sword but Jon was too quick and too relentless. Showing no mercy, he lunged at Jaime beating him on the torso again and with the blunt face of his blade. Jaime took each hit, grunting with every impact. but Jon would not back off.  
  
_‘KILL’_ whispered a voice in Jon’s head.  
  
_‘wreckkk’...  
_  
_‘slay....’  
_  
‘RIP’  
  
He was advancing on Jaime with each blow, strategically moving from side to side making sure to cover every inch of the Kingslayer as he could. His eyes glinted with malice. His arm moved with fury, an endless stream of cold white breath now fuming from his lips.  
  
 Dragon like.  
  
Suddenly, Jaime lunged back with all the force his body could muster, he could feel his chest throbbing. He ripped off the armored plating to his arm and thrusted a right hook powered by his golden prosthetic across Jon’s face.   
  
The crowed roared with shock and excitement. Sansa’s eyes were wide with horror.   
  
Jon’s face jerked to the left. He turned back and fixed Jaime with a murderous glare swirling his tongue around his mouth and over his teeth, spitting a mixture of saliva and blood to the frozen dirt. A bloodthirsty smile crept over his face as he dropped his sword and swiftly returned Jaime’s blow with one of his own, his naked muscled arm sending a left hook across the Kingslayers handsome face.  
  
Jaime recovered quickly, thrusting himself towards Jon, kneeing him in the stomach repeatedly then putting his weight behind another punch across the face, sending Jon stumbling backwards. He skidded to a halt against the dirt then sprinted towards his opponent with a roar sending an elbow up against Jaime’s chin following with a double blow, one arm striking Jaime’s face followed immediately by the other.   
  
Jaime was fighting a daze, he hadn’t been hit this hard since his last stint in war. He shook his head to fight his oncoming concussion. Eyeing his sword in the corner of his eye, he dodged another furious blow Jon aimed at his head, somersaulting sideways to his sword and in three strides charged towards Jon, slicing a cut on the shoulder of his exposed arm.  
  
Jon growled at the sting, but pressed forward, Jaime’s sword digging deeper into the wound. Jaime made to strike again but Jon unsheathed another sword from his back, blocking his blow with another incendiary clash.  
  
They struggled against each other, their faces bloodied and inches apart. Eyes locked and narrowed. Swords grating against the other. No matter how much force they used, none would succumb to the other’s pressure, practically wrestling as they stood upright.  
  
Jon’s arm was bleeding profusely now, not unlike the gash on Jaime’s temple. Their swords were grating harder against each other, the iron screaming in protest. Both men’s weight were pressing dangerously into one another, Their teeth barred, the force of their union was lifting their swords higher and higher into the air, until Jon, with a sharp and sudden upward thrust, sent Jaime’s weapon soaring out of his hands, clattering to the ground.   
  
“Lord Snow WINS!!!” Roared Lord Manderly as the crowd erupted in a boom of screams and applause.   
  
Then men gathered their senses backing away from each other slowly. Jaime tilted his head begrudgingly at Jon who did not return the courtesy, spitting another wisp of blood to the dirt with a sharp and swift jerk of his head. Slightly bitter at the fact that he hadn’t the chance to take Jaime’s life.  
  
Manderly and Lord Glover rushed over to Jon grabbing his arm, lifting it to the sky, guiding him to the front of the arena where he was heralded by a standing ovation. A squire rushed over handing Jon a crown of Winter Roses.   
  
Jon’s eyes moved toward the lower box where Sansa stood clapping. Their eyes met, and suddenly the wreath of flowers felt heavy, his injured arm began to pain him with the weight of the flora.   
  
“You may now crown your Queen, my liege.” Said Lord Glover   
  
The crowd continued to cheer, Erena was standing assumptively in her plum dress joining in the applause. As Jon approached the lower boxes she bent her head, smiling silkily at the King. But the whole time Jon’s eyes were locked on Sansa’s.  
  
_‘Dont’_ her eyes pleaded at him.  
  
But he reached his arms up and placed the crown of roses against Erena’s timber colored locks.  
  
The multitude burst in cheers as Erena stood proudly, newly crowned, the blue frost of the rose glinting maliciously at Sansa whose eyes closed in disdain.  
****************  
That night at the feast the revelry was raucous. The men had used the ale and Summerwine as numbing agents to their wounds. The high table was equally alive with mirth mostly due to the Glovers who sat with  adjacent to the Starks as they had all week. Jon was speaking in low tones with Lord Robett as Erena who sat two seats away was giggling with her hand maidens who were fawning over the wreath of roses she shamelessly wore to dinner.   
  
Sansa, once again was at the tail end of the table. She wore a black gown tonight that draped in the back, her red hair hung in loose and careless curls over her shoulders. Even though she had not little effort in her appearance that night she still could not hide her beauty. She was helping herself to generous amounts of summerwine, hoping to temper the stinging sense of foreboding that hung in the air around her.  
  
Jaime was free of his armor tonight. Wearing a simple beige linen tunic, the gash on his head was stitched and coated in ointment. He approached Sansa who was nursing her fifth cup of wine.  
  
“Good evening, my lady” he said as he helped himself to a seat next to her, grabbing a stray goblet to his side and the flagon of wine out of Sansa’s grasp.  
  
“Isn’t it?” Sansa replied sarcastically.  
  
Jaime chuckled.  
  
“Hardly... I was always a sore loser to be honest. But your brother is a fine opponent, the best I’ve fought to tell you the truth” He said with a melancholy gulp.  
  
Sansa looked over to the end of the table where Jon sat, Erena was now chatting happily with him and her father, a surge of bitterness rose in her again.  
  
“Well, to tell you the truth you fought valiantly... and  _technically,_ you did not lose, I don’t recall you ever yielding.” Sansa said smartly.   
  
Jaime regarded her with an impressed smirk. “I believe you’re right, Sansa. I wouldn’t’ve pegged you as a combat expert.” he teased.  
  
Sansa turned and looked at him with a tipsy stare, “That’s the problem, Ser Jaime... I see everything. I could see your form was perfect, I could see you had no fear, I could see that the North would never let you win, and neither would my brother. That’s why they called the match the minute you were disarmed. I, see, everything.” she finished with a smack of her lips.   
  
Before Jaime could retort, the sound of a spoon clanging on glass rang out around the hall. It was Lord Robett calling everyone to silence as he stood, chest puffed out with pride.  
  
“My Lords and ladies!” He began “I hope you have all enjoyed the celebrations this Solstice!” The hall roared in cheer in response. Lord Robett chuckling, waving a gloved, motioning the crowd to simmer down before he continued.  
  
 “More specifically, Our Lord King Jon for the finest demonstration of hospitality the North has ever seen!” More whoops came the volume of the room increasing as the gathering banged their goblets on the tables. “Not only have I enjoyed The King in the North’s courtesies this past week, but it seems House Glover and House Stark will continue to enjoy each other’s graces as we have done for a thousand years. It is my pleasure to announce the engagement of my daughter, Erena and Lord Snow!!”  
  
The whole hall erupted in violent cheer. Wine was sent up in splashes as men and women raised their glasses in drunken toast to Lord Glover’s sudden declaration.  
  
All, except Sansa...   
   
Who certainly didn't see this coming.  
  
Her blood had now turned cold. Her breathing ragged, Her mouth parted slightly in utter shock.  
  
She looked down to the end of the table, seeing Jon joined in hand with Erena. He seemed to feel Sansa’s eye’s burning into him but he did not look her way.  
  
 Erena did however, the winter roses still sat atop her locks as she she smiled superiorly at Sansa. If her blood had turned cold a moment before, it was Ice now.   
  
_‘Thisisn’trealthiscannotberealthisisn’trealthiscannotbereal’_ her mind screamed at her.  
  
She could not breath. The noise of the hall was causing her head to to throb. Her eyes becoming blurry. She did not feel well. Slowly she stood her sense of equilibrium completely off, the world was in full tilt but somehow she stumbled to the side door that led to the kitchens. She heard someone calling her name behind her but could not hear whose voice it belonged to as she hurled herself over a stray bucket in the hall and violently retched up her Summerwine.  
  
_‘Thisisn’trealthiscannotberealthisisn’trealthiscannotbereal’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! I apologize for my absence. Starting a new job has consumed nearly all my free time but I've found an ounce of libertas to [finally] post another update :).
> 
> More drama for J and S! Just when the Starks seem to be on the brink of happiness something gets in the way, in this case, the impromptu engagement of our favorite bastard and Lady Erena-- who seems to be aware of the relationship between Sansa and Jon. One word: trouble. Obviously, Sansa is not nor will not take any of this lightly, which only means more angst to come! Update coming soon! Hope you all enjoy(ed)!


	8. When the Levee Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa are desperately in love but Jon can’t shake the guilt he feels of their blood ties. Their happiness is road blocked by Jon’s stark sense of morality as well as the voices in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa struggles to cope with the unexpected announcement of Jon's engagement, and it pushes her past her breaking point.

_Thisisn’trealthiscannotberealthisisn’trealthiscannotbereal’  
  
_ Sansa head was still fixed over the stray bucket. She was seeing stars, white dots embroidered over her vision, her body felt as if it was being thrown about by waves. She was sucking in air, trying to breath but the odor of her vomit and the clamor of the hall echoing in her ears caused another tide of sick to surge through her.  
  
Her eyes were watering from the force of her purge and the disbelief of what had just occurred. She used every ounce of strength she had left to heave herself up from her undignified position over the bucket, stumbling to and fro, trying to catch her balance before feeling around and entering the nearby wash chamber to rinse out her mouth, splashing water over her face.  
  
But the water couldn’t cool the fire of rage burning through her skin. One splash of water become a violent waterfall pouring over her red locks, dampening the whole of her head.  
  
Sansa finally gained a minuscule amount composure but her mind was anything but.  
  
Something inside her snapped.  
  
A fresh current of grief coursed through her body.  
_  
‘Enough.’  
  
‘Enough.’_  
  
Jon would not do this to her.  
  
_‘Thisisn’trealthiscannotberealthisisn’trealthiscannotbereal’  
_  
She would not let him humiliate her. She would not let this go without answers. She would not let him take another woman to his bed, the bed that was rightly hers.  
  
Jon was hers.  
  
She would not let that smirking bitch from some insignificant swamp in the north take what was hers.  
  
Her back straightened, her blue eyes deadened with fatigue but fierce with fire as she unlatched the door.  
  
The night was deep and dark over Winterfell. The halls were silent as the castle finally slept. Sansa’s footsteps clipped lightly on the cold stone floors, she was a ghost as she made her way though the torch lit tunnels, her whole body damp with wet.  
  
She reached the great chamber that belonged to mother and father. Her fingers ran over the glossy wood of the door.  
 _  
'You take the life from me.’  
_ ********************************************  
_“Jon…”  
_  
His eyes were closed. Jon could hear the faint whisper of a voice calling his name.  
  
_"Jon”  
_  
There it was again, a sweet voice. But he was tired. and his body felt heavy. He wanted to sleep.  
  
_“Wake up, Jon.”_  
  
Such a sweet voice... sweet...sweet... familiar....  
  
_“Wake up, Jon.”  
_  
His eyes blinked slowly open, the darkness and something wet blurring out his vision.  
  
_“Wake up...”_ the voice coaxed.  
  
He blinked a few more times, He was groggy, not quite acclimated to his surroundings. His vision cleared to the glint of silver above him.  
  
He followed the glint and the wet, where his eyes rested on Sansa. Her hair drenched and dripping, black dress soaked and hitched up above her thighs, sitting astride him, holding a short sword steady with both hands above his neck.  
  
_“That’s it... wake...”_ Sansa whispered, her hands steady but her voice shook with grief.  
  
Silence hung between them as Jon took in the situation. His face was stoic, their breathing uncoordinated, his fixed and even, but Sansa’s ragged and shaky, the sword tip inched closer to his neck resting atop his adam’s apple.  
  
“Sansa...” He breathed slowly “What are you doing?”  
  
“What am I doing... Sansa whispered with a faint chuckle “I could ask you the same question...”  
  
“Sansa...” Jon whispered, he swallowed, the tip of the sword moving in tandem with contraction of his throat “Sansa.. my love...this is madness...”  
  
“ _Don’t... don’t...”_ Sansa cut. She didn’t want to hear endearments. She didn’t want to hear the word love... not now. Not now.  
  
“Madness...” She continued “Madness is what occurred this evening...madness is hearing Lord Glover call out your name with his _whore_ daughter’s attached to it...”  
  
Jon was silent, he looked into Sansa’s face, he could feel the grief spilling from her body, he could feel the rage seeping from her...  
  
“I had no choice...” he replied evenly.  
  
“Are you not a king?... _”_ Sansa spat, her thighs tightening around Jon’s waist, the heat rising in her skin “of course you had a choice...”  
  
“Aye... a king I am, but as a king you’ll find that few choices are actually yours...” Jon whispered.  
  
Sansa’s breathing quickened, her patience was wearing thin but an ounce of hope rose within her. Perhaps it was true... this was not his choice but the Glover’s using Erena’s knowledge against him. If it were so, this would be all the more understandable. Anything. Anything to make this less real. Her grip tightened on the sword and pressed it a little closer to Jon’s throat.  
  
“Explain.”  
  
Silence hung between them again, Jon didn’t flinch at the pressure on his neck as he replied.  
  
“Duty... Sansa.”  
  
Her heart sank. Against everything she wished, she knew what was coming.  
  
“It is my duty, Sansa as King to take a wife...” He continued. “The north... our traditions...you know them well... I cannot rule without a mate, I have to honor the duties my position requires of me....”  
  
Sansa felt the weight of the words sink into soul. Her back felt as if it were about to break.  
  
_Thisisn’trealthiscannotberealthisisn’trealthiscannotbereal’  
_  
Her hands shook on the sword, she could not control the tremors coursing through her. This was not real. not real... no. No. No. No.  
  
”I do not love her... Sansa...” Jon whispered attempting to reassure her, noticing the dangerous change in her disposition.The sword was pressing into his neck now, drawing a driplet of blood. Still, he did not flinch.  
  
”I love you... only you... only you, my love--” He continued  
  
”You love me.... you love me?!” Sansa scoffed, cutting him off. Her body was shaking now, the wet in her hair dripping like rain on Jon’s naked torso.  
  
“Yes--” Jon cut in, still calm. He risked the upward movement of his hand, resting on Sansa’s thigh, rubbing it lightly, hoping to calm her. “Yes... only you... but my duty, my honor---ahhhh”  
  
Tears were now free falling from Sansa’s eyes on Jon’s muscled chest. Her hands, still shaking, now moved the sword from Jon’s neck to the gash in his shoulder, she pressed the tip into the wound, bursting the half healed scab open. Jon winced in pain but Sansa kept the pressure on the cut. Unfazed by his pain. He knew nothing of it. It was nothing compared to hers.  
  
Anger pulsed through her as she dug the sword into Jon’s skin, scraping the blade slowly from his shoulder down his chest.  
  
_“Gahhhh”_ Jon growled, his pain tolerance was extremely high but she was literally pouring salt on his wound. “Sansa...please.. I love only you... only you”  He said through gritted teeth.  
  
She closed her eyes, lies... lies... sweet lies... the euphoria she felt by the timbre of his voice clashed agonizingly with the words she didn’t want to hear... not now,  they were lies.. it couldn’t be true. Love could not hurt this much.  
  
Jon seized the moment and flipped Sansa over with lightning speed, whipping the sword from her grasp, chucking it to the floor with a clatter. She choked out a gasp as he pinned her down, they struggled for a moment, Sansa frantically slapping Jon’s hands from her, Jon struggling to calm her.  
  
“Look at me, look---look at m-m-me, ” Jon said as he finally pinned her arms still. He was kneeling over her, their legs wrapped between each other.  
  
He smoothed her damp hair back, looking into her face, a surge of anguish rushed through him knowing he had caused her to snap like this. Her blue eyes brimmed with a fiery tinge of red, Her cheeks just as red flushed beneath his hands.  
  
“It is my duty...” He continued somberly  
  
Sansa closed her eyes, shaking her head in between his hands. “No... No.... Do not do this to me.. _again,_ Jon.” She moaned.  
  
“I have no choice... I must honor--” he choked  
  
“ _Damn_ your honor! Hang _duty!”_ Sansa cried. _“Why_ do you do this? This back and forth? You tell me you love me then you tell me it’s over. You make love to me then you tell me you must honor your station as king! What about your duty to _me,_  Jon? What about your duty to _our_ happiness??”  
  
“Our happiness...” He whispered. The words seemed so far from him as they slipped his lips. “Our happiness...cannot become common knowledge. We’re impossible, it would be impossible to make you my wife publicly, and you know that...” Jon said softly  
  
“I know nothing, except the fact that I’m good enough to fuck in secrecy like some brothel wench. While you bed your precious new bride for all the world to see.” Sansa sneered venomously.  
  
Jon’s grip tightened on Sansa’s locks. His jaw clenched, a tell tale warning sign that a nerve had been struck in him.  
  
“Stop it.” He warned.  
  
“Then stop this! _Stop,_   _torturing,_ us.” Sansa begged “ We’re alone now, Jon--you don’t have to pretend anymore...” She pleaded clutching at his arms. “Do not chose to spend your life without me.”  
  
Her words pierced him. Just as the sword had a moment ago. She spoke nothing but bitter truths. He loved her. Desperately. This was not what he wanted... But it was no use. Jon, true to the last name that had eluded him all his life, was stark in his decision. There was no moving him and she could see it in his face.  
  
“Jon... please...” She pleaded one last time.  
  
He smoothed her hair back again, and bent his head to kiss her  
  
“I must...” He said against her lips  
  
Her eyes welled up again, and turned her face to the side, breaking the kiss. She could not bear a tender moment. She pushed him away from her.  
  
“Sansa...” Jon whispered calling her back to him.  
  
But she could hear nothing. In her grief, her eyes unfocused, she traipsed towards the door, unaware and unconcerned of the pool of blood dripping off her hands from Jon’s wound.  
  
_'You take the life from me’_   
*************************  
Sansa awoke the next morning on the floor of her chambers, still in her black dress, her hair fanned out and matted over her face. She hadn’t the strength the night before to make it to her bed. The sun was seeping into the room, blinding her. One eyes snapped shut wincing against the rays, it was too bright... she wanted to sleep... to forget...  
  
Someone was knocking at her door. The septa no doubt coming to change the bedding, the door was latched and Sansa wanted to keep it that way. She didn’t want to move. She couldn’t move. The cold of the stone against her face was such sweet company. Her eyes closed again...  
  
Sleep  
  
Sleep  
  
Forget....  
  
More knocks rang out against her chamber door..  
  
Sansa’s eyes fluttered open again... who was it? She didn’t know... a woman.. yes, a woman it sounded like... someone calling her to lunch...  
  
No.. No... She wasn’t hungry...  
  
_‘Let me be’_ She thought  
  
Her eyes closed.  
  
Sleep  
  
Sleep  
  
Forget...  
*********************  
 Her eyes opened again to darkness. Night had fallen, and Sansa lay paralyzed against the cold grey slate. She could hear the faint sound of muffled music echoing around her. The nights feast must’ve started.  
  
She would not go.  
  
She blinked absently her room coming into focus but her eyes rested on her hands, coated in dried blood, igniting the memory of the night before into her consciousness.  
  
_‘It is my duty...’_  
  
_‘I have no choice’_  
  
_‘We’re impossible’_  
  
_‘You know that...’_  
  
The ghost of his words sent a rush of heat through her body. Hot tears welled against the icy blue of her eyes. The cold of the stone was now not enough to cool her. She needed a shower.  
  
No...a bath... She wanted a bath instead.  
  
With a massive effort she heaved herself heavily to he feet. Unlatching the door.  
  
She headed to the washing chambers. The halls were emptied out. Everyone was gathered in the hall. Good... She liked the castle better this way. No one was near to see her. She wanted to retreat into herself. Any company was bad company.  
  
A great white tub lay before her as she lifted her dress up and over her head with some difficulty her body was sticky, covered in patches of dried blood on her neck and hands and arms. She averted her reflection in the nearby mirror.   
  
She crawled into the empty tub, recoiling against the frozen porcelain. She lifted the lead lever to let the waters flow free from the pipes. She hadn’t bothered to light the boilers underneath. It wasn’t worth it.  
  
She sat in the tub, naked. Alone. knees to chest. Watching the icy water pool around her toes. Feeling goosebumps work their way up and down her arms. Her teeth chattered and the water level rose, Past her ankles. climbing her calves and up and up and up. She could feel the chill against her belly as she spread her legs out, letting herself slide in. Watching the water dip into her belly button.  
  
She started to shiver and shake but she let it keep building. Watching the water come closer and closer, letting it engulf her. Her ribs. Her breast. Her shoulders. Her neck.  
  
It’s too much. It’s too much. It’s all too much. She wanted to be swallowed. Whole. Swallowed so she could slip away.  
  
She could feel the water slosh against her numb lips, tasting it on her tongue. She let some slide down her throat, cooling it’s way down. Taking her over inch by inch by inch. Over her mouth, up to her nose. Her eyes peered out over the water, slowly getting blurry, she was not sure it was from the bath.  
  
She wanted to be swallowed.  
  
Her hair floated all around her. An octopus. A red ink stain. Fire in the icy coolness. She was under now. Under and staring. Staring at the stopper at the bottom of the tub.   
  
Her eyes were aching, lungs burning, bubbles escaped her lips. She could not feel her toes.  
  
She wanted to slip away.  
_  
‘So this is what it feels like’_ , she thought, ‘ _to die...’_  to fall through your own grasp... to fall down the pipes and swirl away into the blackness...  
  
Her eyes closed. Begging for air. begging and begging and begging. Lungs on fire.  
  
_‘What have I become?’_  
  
_‘What am I doing?’_  
  
She was blurry and dizzy and it hurt.. gods... it ached. all of it.  
  
_‘No.’_  
  
_‘Not like this.’_  
  
_‘She wins like this.’_  
  
_‘No.’_  
  
_‘This is weak.’_  
  
_‘Not like this.’_  
  
Sansa’s eyes flew open. She wrenched her head up, gasping, the tub was overflowing with water. She shuddered and shook. Shocked, but not altogether relieved. It would have been so easy. So easy... she was so close.  
  
But as a Stark, She always chose the hard things in life, even if that included living.  
  
She was alive.  
  
In a flooded bathroom. She curled into a fetal position and shed the last of her tears. Waiting to return to herself.  
*******************************************************************  
When Sansa had finally gathered herself, she resolved she could not enter the great hall. Clean and dressed as she was, the thought of the roaring din, and the smell of food she had no appetite for. And the sight of him...  
  
The sight of her...  
  
The sight of them...  
  
It sent a surge of nausea through her.   
  
Better if she stayed away. Better for everyone.  
  
She needed air. Slipping past the main doors of the castle, she exited the back way of the south wing near the courtyard. She pushed open the heavy wooden doors, crisp winter air kissing her face.  
  
The courtyard was lit with torches. The sound of neighing ringing out in the cold night air. Sansa’s cloaked billowed around her. She walked blindly, she had no direction. A tour around the castle grounds felt welcome, it would kill time. Enough for the castle to finish their last night of revelries and sleep, then, she could creep back inside, unseen... unbothered.  
  
Her feet had guided her near the stables, the sound of the neighing calling out to her... Someone was there... The horses were only this audible with a visitor.  
  
She turned the corner, a set of blonde locks was bent over a white stallion, placing a horseshoe on it’s hoof.  
  
Jaime looked up when he heard the rustle of hay cracking underneath Sansa’s feet.  
  
“Lady Sansa” He exclaimed with a smile that faded slightly into and inquisitive look. “Good evening... I half expected you to be taking part in the festivities tonight. Solstice is almost over.”  
  
It was a question as opposed to an observation.  
  
“I’m not hungry” She stated simply.  
  
He nodded slowly.   
  
“Yes... The food has been rather rich, I’m afraid I wasn’t able to avoid a stone or two these past couple days.” He jested.   
  
The smile did not reach Sansa’s face. He noticed.  
  
“Are you alright, my lady? I saw last night... you seemed unwell, perhaps the summerwine has been hard on you--” He started inching towards her.  
  
“Where are you going?” Sansa interjected, not letting him finish.  
  
He paused for a second at her abruptness, but resolved to answer, slightly amused.  
  
“Well...the festivities are about over, and as a southroner, I’ve rather overstayed my welcome. I’m headed south.”  
  
“Back to Kings Landing?”  
  
“Yes. A tad bit before my brother to scout ahead.. perhaps hunt.. I’m just getting the horse prepared for the trek.” He said motioning towards the Stallion.  
  
“I see...” Sansa said.   
  
“I will say, I have had an extraordinarilly pleasant time here in the north...  all things considered” he started, rubbing the side of his head where the gash Jon placed on him a day before still stung. “I believe I have you to thank for that, princess. I’m extremely grateful...” he added, smiling at her fondly.  
  
“It was nothing... nothing at all.”  Sansa whispered, staring fixedly at his horse.  
  
“Well if it happened to be anything else, you need not worry. I’m sure you’re aware of my family’s motto.” He jested again.  
  
He pulled the stallion from the box stall by it’s reigns. Sansa grazed a soft hand against the horse’s neck.  
  
“You’re--you’re leaving now?” She asked quickly.  
  
“Yes, It’s about that time. The earlier I leave the north, the more ground I can cover.” He said slightly preoccupied as he placed a satchel across the stallions back.  
  
He started towards the door when Sansa’s hand grabbed his, the other clutching the reigns of the horse stopping them mid-step.  
  
“Sansa?” Jaime said quizzically, He looked into her face, Her eyes bore into his, he could make out something that looked very akin to desperation.  
  
And then she said it.  
  
“Please...Take me with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaannnnd Dark Jon, meet dark Sansa--in all her Karen Hill glory (let's face it, there was no way she was going to take the news well). Finally able to post another chapter! Fueled by 3/4ths a bottle of wine and midnight air--the only things that could power me through putting a character through this much grief. I Loved writing a different side to Sansa but hated putting her through it :(. Jon, once again seems to be sacrificing his and Sansa's happiness [and sanity] for "duty" (so he says). Meanwhile, our red headed princess is looking for an escape, and Jaime might just be the one to give it to her. Things are gonna get serious. Updates upcoming, so stay tuned! Hope you all enjoy(ed)!


	9. And Run.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa are desperately in love but Jon can’t shake the guilt he feels of their blood ties. Their happiness is roadblocked by Jon’s stark sense of morality as well as the voices in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sansa's emotional cup runneth over as she seeks Jaime's aid and refuge away from Winterfell, more specifically, Jon.

“Please...take me with you.”  
  
Jaime was silent. Confused.  
  
“Sansa... what--”  
  
“Take. Me. With. You.” She said again. Here blue eyes intense, still boring into his. Her grip on his hand tightened.  
  
Jaime studied her. The desperation undeniable. There was something strange about this request. Uncomfortably strange.  
  
“Sansa, pray tell me... what is this about?”  
  
She would not let go of his hand. Her grip firm and tight. She did not answer, her eyes simply grew more desperate. More intense.  
  
"Sansa?....” Jaime asked again  
  
Still she did not answer, her grip remaining firm on the stallion’s reigns and Jaime’s hand.  
  
Jaime furrowed his eyebrows, his confusion growing with each passing second.  
  
"...Correct me if i’m wrong but did you not just win a battle that defeated the traitors who took your home? This very castle you’re so ready to leave? The home you’ve been away from for years?”  
  
Sansa’s eyes, still full of distress broke contact with his for a brief moment. She did not want to have to explain herself.  
  
”Well?....” Jaime asked  
  
Still no answer.  
  
"Sansa.... This is highly unusual...” He said matter-of-factly.  
  
Still studying her, his hand becoming sore from the cold and Sansa’s formidable grip, he resolved he wouldn’t get a response.  
  
“Alright... Well I suppose we must approach Lord Snow about this... preparations must be made of course...” He made to walk towards the stable doors and towards the castle.  
  
Sansa’s eyes grew wide, her grip broke from his grasp as she stepped in front of him frantically, her hands raised.  
  
“No! No... We cannot... approach Jon.” She exclaimed, her eyes as wide as orbs. Panic creeping up her spine.  
  
Jaime stared at Sansa incredulously. He had never been more perplexed than he was right now.  
  
“Right.... because your brother, the king, and the rest of your family will not notice your absence” He replied sarcastically.  
  
“Please!... Please.. Ser Jaime. Take me with you. I... I cannot stay here..” She pleaded stepping closer, looking up at him. Her blue eyes began to brim again. Her face flushed from the cold and anxiety.  
  
The kingslayer looked into her face and even deeper into her eyes. He recognized this look...His mind flashed back to the events of that week.  
  
The dance.  
  
The way she broke away from him...her eyes  were looking at someone over his shoulder... who was behind him?..  
  
Jon...  
  
The melee.... The furious blows he’d been hit with... those were not simply battle blows... they were fueled by something else.. something else...  
  
The last night of the feasts... the wedding announcement...  She’d stumbled from the table... he was sure he’d heard retching in between the cheers and roaring of the din...  
  
The announcement...  
  
The engagement.  
  
Jon’s engagement.  
  
Jon’s engagement to the lady Erena...  
  
Retching... blows... stumbling...  
  
The gash on his head that still stung...  
  
The look on Sansa’s face right now... The look that was so familiar... He recognized this look...  
  
He had seen it in Cersei’s eyes the night she told him she was to wed Robert Baratheon.  
  
The the look of heartbreak.  
  
Realization hit him... as hard as the blow the King in the North had laid across his face...  
  
He understood.  
  
“I see...” he said slowly  
  
“Please...” She breathed.  
  
“Yes... engagements... unfortunate things, aren’t they?”  
  
Sansa’s eyes grew wide again, her eyes locked with Jaime’s.  
  
He knew.  
  
Her mouth parted slowly...  
  
“I cannot.. I cannot stay here.” She whispered again.  
  
Jaime was silent. He had never felt more pity in his life.  
  
“Gather some of your things.. quickly. We’ll ride as soon as you’re ready.” He whispered.  
  
Sansa’s body welled up. They said no more. She gripped Jaime’s hand once more, her eyes closed in relief. She walked away quickly towards the south wing of the castle back to her chambers to collect what she could.  
*****************  
Jon laid lazily in his seat at the high table. Revelry and raucousness filling the air around him. A goblet of summewine rested nonchalantly in his right hand. One leg lounging above the arm of his chair. He was wearing his signature black, raven locks curling down to to the nape of his neck. He looked over the fold wearily, cracking a handsome smile here and there to his guests when they passed and bowed.  
  
“Congratulations, my lord!” A Cerwyn knight exclaimed to him in passing. Jon nodded amiably enough. He’d been congratulated all evening. His false smile perfected by the time they’d brought the dessert out.  
  
Tormund had broken himself away from his pursuit of Lady Brienne next to the mince pies and honeyed chicken, and sat boldly next to Jon.  
  
“Lord snow.” He said.  
  
Jon nodded, still lazily stoic but finally glad to have something other than obsequious company at his side.  
  
“Should I be congratulating you then, Jon?” said Tormund pouring himself a cup of ale.  
  
“Why not? Everyone else has.” Jon replied, eyes staring blindly into the hall.  
  
Tormund considered him for a moment,  
  
“Your new lass is bonnie.”  he said as he took at sip of ale.  
  
They both turned their heads to the left, observing Erena who was chatting happily away with her maids.  
  
Tormund smiled at Jon, who had turned his face back to the hall, unresponsive.  
  
“The last time I saw you this enthused you were hanging those traitor crows up to dry.” Tormund said in gruff dark humor  
  
Jon laughed humorlessly, Tormund noticed  
  
“Unexpected, this.” He continued curiously.  
  
“Yes...” Jon replied cryptically.  
  
“Well she’s not kissed by fire, but I reckon she’ll be a fit addition, to the family.” Tormund finished giving Jon a slap on the back.  
  
Tormund was of course referring to Ygritte, Jon’s first love, but the words.. ‘ _kissed by fire’_ ... the only thought that came to mind was Sansa... Sansa and her flame colored locks...  
  
Jon tilted his head back  on his chair, running a calloused hand over his beard and down his neck, his throat throbbed the scabbed flesh was still tender from the night before where Sansa had run the blade over it.  
  
He glanced over to the end of the table where she should have been sat.  
  
Her seat was empty.  
  
Of course, he thought  
  
She would never attend...  
  
Why would she?  
  
She’d most likely took to her rooms, craving no company... none..  
  
“Seven blessings upon you, my lord, and your new bride.” Said a young squire interrupting on’s thoughts, clad in a silver doublet, a red lion embroidered on his chest.  
  
Jon nodded absently.  
  
A red lion.  
  
His eyes instinctually moved back to Sansa’s empty chair, then past it to another vacant spot.  
  
Ser Jaime was absent from the feast as well.  
  
Vacant.  
  
Both of them.  
  
Jon’s eyes darted back and forth between the two empty places at the table. His brain swimming through the fog of his melancholia and wine.  
His jaw clenched as his eyes narrowed.  
  
Where was she.  
  
Where was he.  
  
Where were they...  
  
His thoughts were interrupted yet again by the clanging of plates and cutlery, benches scraping, the fold had stood their glasses raised. Lord Glover was initiating a toast.  
  
”My Lords and ladies I am saddened tonight” Glover started dramatically. The fold in deafening silence as they strained their ears at his words.  
  
”Saddened, because this magnificent celebration has come to a close. Lord Snow has showered us all in tremendous hospitality...”  
  
The crowed murmured in agreement  
  
”However.. I am beyond pleased, beyond pleased to say that though this is the end of our revelries, it is not the end to our noble families connection.”  
  
”Here here!” Chimed the crowd as Ser Robett continued. He placed his hand on his daughters and reached for Jon’s the both of them standing upright now as he continued his speech.  
  
”It brings me the greatest and proudest honor to say that the ties that were forged this week during our blessed solstice are now and forever more, binding!”  
  
The crowd roared in cheer  
  
”... Lord Snow and my beloved daughter, Erena are the ropes that secure the love and fealty between the great Deepwood Mott and the noble halls of great Winterfell, now and forever!!” Lord Glover raised Jon and Erena’s hands simultaneously as he finished his oration.  
  
The fold went wild with ovation, the men whooping and toasting their glasses the women blowing kisses towards the great table.  
  
Jon smiled in insincere courtesy, with every words lord Glover uttered he grew sicker and sicker.  
  
”Now! Lord Snow, in your last act of noble courtesy it is tradition that you escort your soon to be bride back to her chambers for the night.” The crowd erupted again in agreement as they all made to exit to their beds, men getting heavily to their feet filled with venison meat pies and ale, the women dizzy with summerine and lemon cakes. Some off to sleep, others to have their last rounds in secret lustful trysts.  
  
”Of course...” Jon said to Lord Glover bowing disingenuously “after you...” He continued holding a hand out to Erena.  
  
She took it, smug and proud.  
  
They walked out of the halls nodding at all the passerby before they headed toward the south wing  
  
“My father is very happy, my lord “ began Erena, her gown of gold dragging across the stone floors behind her as they traipsed toward her chambers.  
  
Jon was silent. His mind still swimming in the images of the empty places at the high table.  
  
_Where were they.  
_  
”When we sojourn back to the Deepwood I suppose the wedding preparations shall begin, surely it will keep us unusually preoccupied... but I should think that my handmaidens will be happy to be busy with something other than needle work” She laughed haughtily.  
  
”Hmmmm” Jon replied unheedingly.  
  
Erena continued to talk, her voice however was muffled by Jon’s mind... racing. Their seats  
  
Vacant...  
  
Absent...  
  
Where was he  
  
Where was she  
  
Where were they  
  
Tyrion was at they feast... yes... by the barrels of ale consorting with a Reed... no... a Manderly maiden Jon recalled.  
  
But no Jaime.  
  
Jon’s insides burned with irritation.  
  
Sansa absence was understandable... painful... excruciating... but understandable.  
  
The Kingslayers absence. Welcomed. Jon could not be happier if he never saw his face again.  
  
But the pair of them. absent together... No... he was being paranoid... this was baseless...  
  
The volume on Erena’s musing were turned back up again.  
  
”And Sansa...” She began, her words laced with sickening sweetness. “I suppose Sansa could be one of my bridesmaidens...”  
  
The sound of her name turned Jon’s attentions back on Erena, He stopped in his tracks, turning to her closing the space between them. Running a hand through her hair.  
  
She stopped speaking a seductive grin playing on the corners of her mouth.  
  
Jon’s lips inched towards hers.  
  
”My lord...” She breathed  
  
Jon’s lips pressed onto Erena’s, silencing her instantly.  
********************  
Sansa rushed back into the castle, frozen dirt kicking up at her heels. She didn’t have much time. She could hear rumbling in the halls, guests making their way towards their quarters to sleep.  
  
She slipped through the heavy wooden doors of the south wing hurrying down the hall  and up the steps, she unlatched her doors quickly grabbing a leather satchel that rested in a chest at the foot of her bed, throwing what she could haphazardly inside.  
  
When her bag was full, she fastened it onto her back and across her chest. Cheeks flushed and still stinging from the cold outside. She took one last look at her chambers... one last look at the walls around her,  
  
Her home...  
  
Her family...  
  
Arya and Bran’s faces floated through her mind... a wave of guilt and anguish flowed through her. She did not want to leave them without saying goodbye...  
  
She couldn’t...  
  
She wouldn’t  
  
She resolved to sneak to their chambers, perhaps they’d be asleep by now... she would be quick. she would be brief.  
  
Latching the door with a heavy copper key she hastened down the wing.  
  
The torches were lit, but dimly, she heard voices...  
  
Damn.  
  
The feasts guests must still be clamoring to their beds... she thought.  
  
Tucking her hair into the neck, she raised the hood of her cloak. Hoping perhaps with the aid of the shade of halls and their drunkenness, they would not notice her. She crept down the small flight of steps and turned the corner.  
  
Her heart dropped at watch she saw.  
  
Jon and Erena wrapped in each toher’s embrace. His lips glued to hers, strong hands entwined into her muddy brown locks.  
  
A thousand pound fist had lodged itself into her belly. She could not breath. She blinked a few times. It was not real... no...  
  
Her hands were cold and not from the frosty bite of the northern air. The life was seeping from her, the rosy pink color of her cheeks draining from her face.  
_  
‘I do not love her’  
  
‘She is no one’  
  
’Only you... my love’  
_  
Sansa’s mind was fogged. Her heart was racing. Grief, rage, anguish, she could not sort what she was feeling the most of..  
  
_’Throttle her’_ she thought _.  
  
‘Rip her from his arms.’  
  
‘Break free a brick from the wall and crush her skull in...’  
_  
Too easy... it would be too easy. She made to move towards them with what little ounce of feeling she had left in her body her hands balled into fists... but something stalled her.  
  
_’My duty’_  
  
_’My honor’_  
  
_’I have no choice’_  
  
_’I must’_  
  
So this was it.  This is what he chose. What he wanted. Despite what he said to her. It was real. This was real. All of it. and it was staring at her dead in her Tully blue eyes.  
  
All ambition to make her way to her siblings quarters died there on the steps.  
  
She bit her fist silencing the cry of anguish that was thrashing through her.  
  
She had to get out. She had to leave.  
  
She took one last look at the two of them. To make sure she wasn’t in a nightmare.  
  
His lips were still fused to hers.  
  
Sansa swallowed the choking feeling back from her throat.  
  
She turned and stumbled to the north wing opting to find another way out. Any way out.  
  
She found her way to the doors, propelling herself through them. Jaime and a few other capital men were waiting at the end of the courtyard with Sansa’s white stallion.  
  
”Sansa!” He called out as she stumbled towards him.  
  
”Shhh... shhh..” She whispered clambering upright. Jaime jumped off his horse and lifted Sansa onto hers.  
  
”Are you ready?” He asked looking concerned.  
  
She still struggled to catch her breath. Speech not fully forming coherently off her lips. The images of what she’d just witnessed playing like a horror film reel in her head.  
  
"Let’s go. Now” She croaked.  
  
Jaime moved quickly. Wasting no time, he’d lifted himself onto his stallion kicking it into a quick steady gallop.  
  
Sansa followed suit, gazing back at Winterfell growing smaller and smaller in the distance in the bleak winter air.  
*************  
Jon’s lips pressed harder onto Erena’s, her eyes were closed in rapture.  
  
She made to move a delicate hand into his raven curls, lost in the feel of his lips against hers.  
  
She never got the chance.  
  
Jon broke the kiss, and with lightening speed wrapped a hand around her neck, slamming her into the wall behind them.  
  
She gasped in shock and pain, her eyes watered, her head throbbing at the intensity of her impact against the stone.  
  
Jon moved his body against hers, his mouth hovering above her quivering lips.  
  
“Do not forget your place, my lady” he whispered menacingly.  
  
Erena’s eyes watered and bulged, gasping for air.   
  
“I’ve agreed to this marriage...” He continued “...for the sake of peace here in the north, for the sake of peace in my household. For the sake of Sansa’s honor. You and your father are aware... of my relationship.... fine. I’m weary of battle. Another dead northern house just would not suit. It would be in very bad taste...”  
  
Tears spilled onto her cheeks from her asphyxiation. His grip tightened on her neck, his lips brushing hers.  His eyes glinting with malice.  
  
“But if you ever speak Sansa’s name to me, in insult, in jest, even in compliment... ever... I will kill you myself.” He whispered   
  
Erena’s face was turning a sour shade of blue. Jon kept his hand wrapped around her throat for a second longer so as to make his point clear. His face expressionless. Stoic. Calm.  
  
“Have I made myself clear?” He asked his lips still hovered above hers.  
  
Erena’s eyes were bulging from their sockets. veins protruding from her temples. Her hands were gripping Jon’s arms scratching at them gasping vainly for air.  
  
“Have I?” Jon repeated unfazed by her struggles.  
  
With what little strength she had, she moved her head feebly forwards and back in strained agreement.  
  
Jon released her from his grip, Erena dropped to the floor, clutching her neck. Her chokes and wheezes and sputters echoing and fading into the halls as Jon, jaw clenched walked alone down the torch lit halls to his great chamber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! First thing's first, apologies for the long gaps between updates! Like I said, time is now a luxury, lol.  
> Realizations galore this chapter ;). A few of you guessed it. Now Sansa has escaped Winterfell to her relief but probably not Jon's [when he finds out anyway]. Needless to say, now that Dark Jon has made a resurgence, shit will hit the proverbial fan, But that's all I'll say for now. Updates upcoming (quickly I hope)!! I hope you all enjoy(ed)!


	10. What Boils Beneath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa are desperately in love but Jon can’t shake the guilt he feels of their blood ties. Their happiness is roadblocked by Jon’s stark sense of morality as well as the voices in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jon is haunted again as he realizes something has gone missing from his home. Sansa is haunted as well, and does what she must to cope.

Jon awoke in his chambers the next morning, half groggy, feeling the weight of the the last night’s summewine on his temples. The air around him feeling thick and heavy. He took a deep breath and instinctually reached his hand across the bed to feel for the warm, lithe body that should’ve laid next to him.  
  
 He felt nothing, nothing but emptiness underneath the thick woolen blankets. His heart sank. What he wouldn’t give to have her lying next to him.  
  
Jon closed his eyes and breathed in again, the faint scent of lavender lingering on his pillows.   
  
_‘again...’  
_  
_‘I love you’_  
  
_‘againnn...’_  
  
Jon smiled slightly at the echo of her moans..  
  
‘ _Jon... please’_  
  
Sweet, sweet sound...  
  
_‘You take the life from me....’_  
  
He could still feel the heat of her body, the feel of her nails against his back. He felt his member grow swollen, aching, hard at the sound of her whispers.   
  
_“fuckkkkkk....”  
_  
It ached, he was throbbing, he could still feel the ghost of her lips pressed upon his, a small drip of sweat forming over his brow, he made to reach into his night trousers, to take himself in hand briefly to relieve himself of his lusts....  
  
Brief...  
  
 Relief..  
  
His hand lightly grazed his newly hardened length, the aroma of the sweet purple flower permeating his senses...  
  
_‘SSSSSiiiiiiccckkkklingggg!!!’  
_  
Jon’s eyes snapped shut tightly... a searing white pain waved through his skull.  
  
_‘no no no no no no no no no no no, not this again’_ half his mind screamed.  
  
_‘VILE!’ the voice_ shrilled, volume raising an octave with every syllable.  
  
_‘You would take yourself in hand at the thought of your own sister! Sick, vile, King! You abuse the station the gods have bestowed upon you! Unworthy! Unworthy! Wretch!’_  
  
“I love her...” Jon groaned back, rubbing fiercely at his temples, attempting to bring some comfort to the searing pain in his head.  
  
The voice took no pity. _‘SWINE!’_ it screamed.. ‘ _miscreant! What is love when you defile her honor with every lecherous move you make! Your  amorations are a filthy abomination! You shame the pride of the noble house of Stark!”_  
  
Jon’s breath caught in his throat, a wave of nausea threatened to course through him. He desperately wanted not to heed the shrieks, to mute them from his mind.  
  
“I love her” He repeated, trying to convince the roar that nothing about his affections were perverse, that what he felt was pure.  
  
‘ _SICKKKKKKK!_ _Vile!, revolting! King of vice, liege of depravity!’_  
  
Jon’s eyes were watering with searing pain, as if a white hot poker was being jammed in his skull. Vertigo was setting in. He clutched at his raven curls in agony, trying to silence the screams and steady the world that was now in full tilt.  
  
_‘I love you’_ the sweet voice hummed amidst the shri _e_ k _s_  
  
Sansa.  
  
_‘No other man but you...’  
_  
Only she was able to silence the shrieks, to bring some peace to his torments.  
  
Sansa...  
  
He needed to go to her, to speak to her, to simply be an inch from her presence.  
  
Jon unevenly ambled across the bed and from his quarters, a sheen of sweat covering his shirtless torso, the halls were still quiet, the sun was up but the castle still asleep. He headed to the south wing, his eyes half lidded in agony stumbling to and fro attempting to find his footing. He clambered up the small flight of steps and approached the door to her chambers.  
  
Out of breath, his hand grazed the glossy wood, he rested his head against the cool of the timber, breathing in, then breathing out the name...  
  
“Sansa” He said against the door, lightly rapping on it.  
  
He heard nothing.   
  
“Sansa...” He whispered again “Sansa, awaken... please...”  
  
Still, nothing.  
  
_‘Ssssssickling’_ said the echo still snaking through his ears. Jon cringed, his nails began to bite at the planking, his eyes brimmed with red, his head pulsing violently.  
  
“Sansa... please.. I know... I know you’re cross with me... but I've not come to quarrel with you...”  
  
Silence.  
  
“I know the dawn has not fully birthed... please.. wake... speak to me... I.. love..” He paused in his words... A declaration of his affections after everything would not suffice. He knew it. Gods... old and new could only understand the grief she must be feeling at the moment, he thought. She hadn’t even been up to see the last night’s feast.  
  
Because of him.  
  
_‘Stop torturing us’  
_  
_‘Do not choose to spend your life without me’  
_  
Jon winced again and slid down to the floor, his back against the hard wood. He tilted his head back resting it against the door. His eyes closed.  
  
“Sansa...” he continued “I know you cannot understand... why I’ve chosen to wed another... It’s not just for me to ask you to understand... I know... there is bitterness in your heart towards me... please try to be cognizant that what I’ve done, I’ve done to protect you... “  
  
Silence.  
  
Jon began panic, Sansa slept lightly. Surely... surely.. she could hear him.  
  
“Sansa..” He began again shakily  
  
Nothing.  
  
“Please... listen to me.. it seems.. it seems as if what we feel... what’s been happening... our relationship... it seems if some would make it their mission to use it against us... Sansa I did not want for you to have to bear the burden of the manipulations some would see to subjects us to. I am king... I am a Stark... after all the years... I’m granted the title. It is my duty to put my family first... to put what I love first.. even if that means losing my liberty to love you freely...”  
  
Nothing.  
  
“Sansa... please..  speak to me... please...open the door. You must understand... the thought of a life without you... I can’t breathe. This is unbearable... All I want is you... all I want is... what’s best for you...  
  
_‘wwwwwwretch’_  
  
Jon winced again but continued, his speech becoming more desperate with every word.  
  
“I think about that night... the night I first tasted you... the first night in my life had ever felt such pure and absolute happiness. You.. you Sansa, you are my happiness... you are my peace... speak to me.. please. Open the door. Give me back my peace.” He said.  
  
Silence.  
  
Jon’s eyes were still brimmed with red. His heart raced. His head still pulsing.  
  
_‘Viiiiile...’  
  
“S_ ansa one word. One word from you and I will do as you wish... anything...” Jon said as he clambered to his feet trying his best to ignore the serpentine echoes. His palms pressed to the door, his forehead resting again on the cool of the wood.  
  
Still, nothing.  
  
Jon’s heart sank. He ran a frustrated hand through his curls.   
  
“So that’s it then... You would answer my sentiments with silence my love?” He said, pained. His eyes staring blankly into the wood panels of the door.   
  
_“_ Whatno shouts, no slaps... no....declarations of loathing even?” He said in heavy-hearted jest.   
  
Hush.  
  
Jon waited for an answer. Something. Anything... but was returned with an eerie muteness.   
  
He could not understand... he knew she must’ve heard him. Sansa did not sleep heavily. The slightest sound during her slumbers could wake her. He reached for the Iron knob at the door and gave it a shake.  
  
It was locked.  
  
He tried again putting more force behind his efforts. The door remained locked. Desperation overtook him again. He began relentlessly twisting the knob  
  
“Sansa open the door.” He said sternly. “You know I’m not here to hurt you, I only want to talk.”  
  
Silence. No movement from the room. Nothing.  
  
“Open the door. Now.” he declared unapologetically. But when he was met with silence again, Jon let go of any inhibition. With his hand still on the doorknob, he put the weight of his body against  the wood, giving it a slam.  
  
Again.  
  
And again.  
  
And again.  
  
The wood began to give at Jon’s strength. Jon’s eyes, still brimmed with red. His body still covered in the light sheen of sweat.  His still injured shoulder stung with every lung he made. But he did not care. He barely felt it. Sansa would see him. She would hear him out. He needed her.   
  
He needed her.  
  
Again  
  
And again.  
  
And again.  
  
The wood began to crack, the Iron knob breaking free from it’s screws.  
  
And finally, the door burst free from it’s latches.  
  
Jon was propelled into the chamber with a boom. When his eyes gained a collective focus, they surveyed the room.  
  
The empty room.  
  
Sansa was not there.  
  
He slowly grazed his eyes over her fourposter bed. Fully made as if it hadn’t been slept in in days. He glanced at the floor, a light stain of dried blood in the form of a handprint lay bare of the grey slate. a surge of anguish overtook him, he knew Sansa in her misery, she had most likely laid there the last night he’d been in her audience. Too weak from melancholia to make her way to her bed. He knew this was his blood that marked the stone.  
  
But why was she not there, now, in the wee hours of the morning.  
  
It was then he noticed that the room was not in the pristine state Sansa had usually left it in. Things were not neat and placed away in their proper stations. Quite the contrary, items of clothing were strewn about and laid haphazardly across the floor. Jon’s eyes then moved to the trunk at the foot of Sansa’s bed, it lay open and half empty as if items had been taken and packed away in a rush.  
  
Packed away...  
  
Half empty...  
  
Ominous suspicion crept up Jon’s spine. He walked slowly towards the trunk, crouching down in front of it. Beside the ornate design at the bottom of the furniture lay a cold film of dirt. Jon gathered a finger full of it in his fingertips.The dirt was half muddy, mixed with melted snow and rubble.  
  
Dirt from the courtyard.  
  
Jon’s jaw clenched. His chest began to rise and fall with fervor. His eyes moved slowly again to the trunk, he reached a hand inside. Items of clothing Sansa usually dawned... her black dress, her favorite woolen cloak, velvet navy blue gown with the Direwolf stitched in the front, her glass vile of Lavender and Lemon oil...  
  
Gone.  
  
All, gone.  
  
Every ounce of pain, anguish, agony, and heartbreak died as Jon deductively put the pieces together.  
  
Sansa was gone.  
  
Jon rushed out of the room, down the small staircase, past the tapestry of the weirwood tree and pushed the heavy doors of the South wing open into the brisk northern air. The sun had not warmed the morning yet, but Jon felt nothing but heat even as he slowly paced through the courtyard shirtless. A cool, icy breeze swept through his Ebony locks as he looked towards the ground.  
  
Fresh hoof prints littered the frozen earth, several sets of them. Jon followed each with his red brimmed eyes. Heat was rising like a volcano through his body, until his eyes rested on the main gates of Winterfell that creaked open and shut in the bitter northern wind.  
  
Without deducing a single thing more, realization had avalanched over him, burying him in bitter and icy fury. He licked the side of his mouth with bloodthirsty rage, as he’d done during the Melee.   
  
Several sets of footprints... this meant she had not gone alone. And there was only one other person who had not graced the feast with their presence the night before.  
  
The Kingslayer.  
  
Jon’s nails dug into his palms, drawling droplets of blood that fell to the gelid earth as another set of snakelike whispers ripped through his conscience.  
  
_‘KILL’_  
  
_‘Rippppp’_  
  
_‘Ssssslay’_  
_**********************_  
The earth rattled as the Southron stallions thundered across the cold northern dirt.  
  
Jaime had ordered the company to steady on, they had not stopped the trek since they’d left Winterfell, riding hard into the night. But the horses, who were strong and fast, were getting tired. In desperate need of food and water as well as rest.  
  
“We’ll make camp here” Jaime announced reigning his stallion into a halt  and dismounting.  
  
The horses, due to their mating with the Dothraki stallions, were strong and quickest in the whole of the seven kingdoms. So quick they’d already taken them as far as Harrenhal. They’d settled in a lush clearing surrounded by a heavily forested wood. Fireflies flitted about casting a whimsical glow over a rippling creek that bubbled adjacent to them.  
  
Sansa pulled her horse into a full stop as well. She was exhausted, her face flushed from the biting wind licking at her face during the journey. She dismounted her steed, pulling her cloak’s hood up and over her fire-kissed locks, shielding herself from the cool of the night.    
  
Some of the capital men began to reign in the horses, drinking them and laying feed at their feet.  
  
The other men were setting up tents, raising them up against the wind the howled heavily that night.  
  
Jaime had broken a bow and arrows from his satchel and pointed it to the north eyeing a sudden movement between a thicket of trees. Letting one fly swiftly loose, a sharp thud echoed across the forest. Jaime hiked toward the sound pushing his way through the bush. He emerged a moment later with the carcass of a stag balanced on his shoulder.  
  
An hour later the beast, skinned and de-antlered was roasting on a spit above a roaring fire. A Hare and several fish from the creek sat roasting next to it. The men were already toasting their lead flagons of stowed ale and wine around the fire, singing a chorus of drunken tavern songs as others rough housed in inebriated merriment.  
  
Sansa sat on a mossy log near the fire, her hair still covered by the hood of her cloak. She watched the fire crackle, the shadows of the flames dancing across the molten hearth forming shapes the flickered and died. She stared into the light, hypnotized by blaze. Flashes of the dancing flames and the aroma of the roasting flesh of the deer sent her into a reverie. The fifth night of the solstice celebrations flashed through her mind...  
  
_She was being switched between partners, thrown about the room, her eyes half lidded as a swirl of color flashed before her until they landed on black.  
  
Grey broody eyes stared back at her. Severe. Intense. She felt as if she was falling into a storm.  
  
‘My love...’  
  
‘Let me resurrect you’  
  
The doors to her chambers burst open, she was pinned against the wall. The weight of Jon’s muscled chest pressed against her bosom. The heat of his breath lingered above her mouth  
  
‘I hate you’  
  
‘Prove it’  
  
‘SAY IT.’  
_  
Sansa’s eyes closed, she raised her fingers to her mouth and brushed them against her lips. She could still feel the fullness of Jon’s lips forcing her mouth open, she could taste the sweetness of summerwine licking at her tongue.  
  
_‘Only you... my love.’  
_  
Her eyes pressed tightly shut at the words. Damming back tears that threatened to flood from her azure orbs. She wrenched her eyes open staring back into the flames, still dancing merrily against the crisping skin of the venison.  
  
She felt heat in front of her, and sudden heat to her right. Rubbing her eyes from the wet that threatened to cascade down her cheeks, she looked to her side to see Jaime’s sitting next to her, holding a pewter flagon and goblet out in front of her.  
  
“Thank you.” She said hoarsely, taking the cup from Jaime’s grasp, letting him fill it to the brim with summerwine.  
  
“How are you feeling?” Jaime asked, as he filled his own cup to its limit.  
  
“Fine.” Sansa lied.  
  
Jaime raised an eyebrow in skepticism, Sansa ignored him.  
  
He took a sip of his wine, looking into the crackling fire alongside her.  
  
“It get’s easier you know..” He started staring deeply into the flames.  
  
“Easier?” Sansa repeated hoarsely.  
  
“Living... “ Jaime continued. “without them...without the ability to love them... freely.”  
  
“Does it?" Said Sansa blankly. Her eyes unfocused as she lifted her cup to her lips, drinking deeply from it.  
  
“Not immediately, it will seem like an eternity. There will be pain. It will be hard to sleep, thinking of their hands on the back of one who isn’t you. You will hate the other. It will seem like there’s no escape...”  
  
Sansa winced, drinking deeply from her cup again and wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her cloak.  
  
“I’m sorry, Ser Jaime but is this you attempting to console me? If so, I regret to tell you you’re failing, miserably.” Sansa interjected slicingly. She grabbed the flagon of Wine from his grasp and filled her cup herself.  
  
Jaime looked at her with concern, then smiled pityingly.  
  
“But you find ways... avenues to make it work. There might be a fair amount of secrecy involved. Stolen moments. Brief encounters... and you are young, my lady... you may yet find another that might temper the sting of loneliness caused by his absence...”  
  
“Secrecy...” Sansa repeated,with an un-amused laugh, downing another glass, wiping her mouth again with her sleeve. “So that is what my life is to become? Years of concealment. Hiding away like some petty thief.”  
  
“Sansa...” Jaime started.  
  
“I will not.” She interjected sharply, her eyes glossed over. “Jon is mine. He will always be mine. I suppose greed is my vice. That is what I am. So I will have all of him, or none of him...”  
  
Jaime looked at her impressively, amused and sympathetic at her pride. “Well, princess..” He began “it seems you’ll have to share him...”  
  
“I will not share.” Sansa stated blatantly. “Not with the likes of some fen whore who dares to stake a claim to what belongs to me.” She spat. Her face becoming quite austere, then melting into a pained expression as her mind flashed back to her last moments on the stairs. Seeing Jon wrapped in the snakelike grip of Erena’s pallid arms.  
  
“I cannot share him... so I will have none of him... I suppose...” She finished somberly. Her eyes unfocused, taking another heavy gulp of her wine.  
  
Jaime watched her, his heart feeling heavy, the melancholia seeping from her was thick enough to cut with a knife. Sansa held her goblet out, signaling him to fill it. He paused, unsure that it was wise to do so.  
  
“My lady, perhaps you should eat... a little. It is no good to take in the drink while the belly is barren...”  
  
Sansa fixed him with a bored stare. “I will eat, Ser Jaime, but first I would quench my thirst. Speaking of ‘no good’, would you have me drink alone? Not very chivalrous of you, I’m disappointed.” She jabbed.  
  
Jaime looked lightly taken aback, motioning towards his half filled goblet.  
  
“Oh don’t be ridiculous...” Sansa scoffed, placing her hand around the hand that held the cup, pulling it towards her, topping it off to the brim.  
  
“Catch up.” She said with a competitive smile.  
  
Jaime regarded her with amusement again. He admired her ability to switch a moment of misery to a moment of strength.  
  
“As you wish.” He said raising the cup up in mock toast then downing a generous gulp.  
  
“Good man” Said Sansa with a smile, turning her head back towards the spit.  
  
Within the hour, two flagons of wine were downed, the venison had been carved into and salted. Sansa’s anguish had turned to mirth as she laughed merrily at the jokes told by the men. She had never found humor in crudeness, but tonight all inhibition and decorum had fallen by the wayside. She felt a cloudy freedom, but freedom nonetheless.  
  
“And then ‘e says, ‘e says to me, _‘But my good ser, I ‘ave no money, no money at all! But I’ll give you my wife and please, don’ let ‘er find ‘er way home!'"_ Cried a burly auburn haired knight standing above the fire, gesticulating animatedly. The rest of the throng roared in guffaws, Sansa was tearing up and clutching at her sides with laughter. Jaime, drunk as well, was doing the same. A handsome grin was plastered on his mouth, gaiety disguised as deep laugh lines playing around his emerald colored eyes.  
  
The both of them were feeling light and merry from the wine stomachs full of meat and mirth. Sansa had finally gotten warm enough to separate herself from her cloak, letting her hair loose from it’s braid, the firelight casting a enchanted glow over her cheeks that were kissed with light tinges of pink.  
  
Another sip of wine and the heaviness of fatigue weighed on Sansa’s eyelids. Two other knights were sat on the log with her but she felt her head roll to the right, landing in the crook of Jaime’s neck. She could still feel ripple’s of laughter coursing through her as she breathed in the scent of Balsam and Rosewood.  
  
The air felt perfect, the air felt light, the cool of the night kissed her cheeks while the fire and wine warmed her insides. It felt like Yuletide. She felt her eyes give in to the weight of fatigue, slowly shutting away the amber glow of the crackling fire, her face rolling into Jaime’s neck, her lips pressed against his clavicle. Jaime instinctively wrapped an arm around Sansa to support her now limp body. Still laughing at the jests the Knights freely told around the fire, he turned his head slightly to the left to press his lips atop her forehead. Sansa crooned lightly, her face nuzzling deeper into Jaime’s neck. Croons morphing into sleepy whistles.  
  
Jaime felt Sansa go heavily lank, observing her red locks floating up and down over her face.  
  
“Sansa...” He whispered, lips still pressed against her forehead. He received a light nuzzle in response. He kissed her head again but lifted to his feet, placing one hand on her back and sweeping the other underneath her legs, effortlessly lifting her into a cradled against his chest. Her goblet dropped to the ground as Jaime, leaving the laughter and song behind them, approached the nearest tent.  
  
Jaime entered the tent, laying Sansa down on a thick burlap blanket laid over the grass. As she breathed in and out, Jaime observed her quietly through his drunken haze, making sure she was completely well. He gave her one lass kiss on the forehead before he made to turn from the tent and back into the company of the men. Before he got the chance to creep between the flaps of the tent a familiar formidable grip wrapped itself around his wrist, stopping him.  
  
“Jaime...” She whispered hoarsely. Jaime turned back, looking into her face, her eyes were half lidded, her lips red and flushed with the stain of wine.   
  
“Please... stay with me.” She whispered, her eyes deadened with fatigue but the familiar look of anguish hidden just underneath the surface.   
  
As Jaime observed her, and felt the drunken grip of her hand clutching at his wrist, he resolved to oblige her. The weight of the drink looming heavily over him. He laid next to her still, their hands locked and entwined with eachother.  
  
Sansa breathed out turning her body into Jaime’s, pressing her lips lightly against his neck. Still feeling the warmth of the wine coursing through her veins. Sleepily nuzzling her face deeper into the crook of his neck, his eyes closed.  
  
“Sansa...” Jaime breathed, eyes shut, running his fingers blindly through her hair.   
  
She answered with a nip, forming a small love bite sucking in his tantalizing scent of rosewood and balsam.  
  
“Sansa...” He repeated “We...we shouldn’t” He groaned. The wine was rapidly flowing through him. weakening his resolve. and the cool of Sansa’s lips were testing the limits of his strength.  
  
Sansa did not care. She felt free. The warmth of Jaime’s muscled chest pressing into her made her feel safe. The summerwine being the key to the shackles she felt she’d been wearing for the past few weeks.  She moved from his neck to his chin, sucking lightly, then from his chin her lips hung a centimeter from his lips. Her eyes opened, crystalline blue met deep green.  
  
“Damn it all.” Whispered Jaime as he crashed his lips into hers. Sansa smiled into the kiss giving his bottom lip a lick before his tongue entered her mouth.   
  
‘ _Only you my love’  
_  
Sansa winced, her eyes snapping shut, her lips pressing harder onto Jaime’s. He pulled away from her briefly “Sansa...perhaps we should--” but he was cut off. Sansa pulling him back down to her both her hands clutching firmly in his blonde hewed locks.  
  
Jaime groaned, his hands roaming the sides of Sansa’s curves. He unbuttoned the front of her gown opening it up, exposing her small clothes. He pressed his lips to her belly, laying a trail of kisses down and past her navel. He placed his large hands on her silks slipping them down her thighs, past her knees, over her ankes and off her feet. The cool of his breath caused her to shudder slightly. Jaime kissed the inside of her thighs slowly, Sansa’s hands remained intertwined with his, then clutched tighter as he dipped his tongue into her warmth.   
  
Sansa gasped, her eyes shutting quickly, her hips rising as his lips kissed the ones under her navel. He drank her in slowly, then faster and faster until she started to feel her sensitive bud swell with electricity. The drink amplifying every sensation her nerves could exert. She bit her lip, between her gasps and croons, her eyes began to open slowly. _  
_  
Golden locks began to morph slowly into thick raven curls. Clean shaven jaw grew into a glossy ebony beard. Green eyes transformed into deep grey.  
  
Jon's face was staring up at her as his mouth worked hungrily on her cunt, sucking in her juices.  
  
Sansa stared into the grey squall, her hands lightly massaging the newly grown curls in between her legs as strong calloused hands gripped her tiny waist.  
  
She smiled. Her eyes rolling back, closing slowly as her breathing quickened.  
  
_“Jon.”_ She whispered. Inaudibly.  
********************  
_“Jon”  
_  
_“Jon”_  
  
Sansa’s voice echoed through his mind. His heart stop briefly. His eyes closed in momentary euphoria. Sansa’s croons of ecstasy reverberating through his brain.  
  
He was sitting in the breakfast hall, the last meal before the whole of the Solstice visitors departed back to their respective homes.   
  
Jon stared blankly around the rumbling crowd. His heart felt uncomfortable. Something didn’t feel right. Though she was not physically near, Sansa hadn’t felt far from him...  
  
 Until now.  
  
He was clutching at his goblet of beer. Looking visibly impatient. Visibly severe. Some of the maidens from the other houses walked below the high table where he sat, smiling giddily at his handsome broody face, hoping for a reaction or some sort of acknowledgement.  
  
“Seven blessing to you, my liege” they said in unison.   
  
They only movement he made was shifting his eyes toward their direction. Face blank, austere as ever. The maidens gasped in intimidated awe, scurrying past the table with nervous chatter.  
  
Arya and Bran were sitting next to Jon chatting away with Tyrion and Meera. Erena was listening to her father talk animatedly about wedding plans with her handmaidens. She was sporting a high necked gown this morning, hiding the bruises left on her neck from Jon’s firm grip the night before. Looking Haughty, she was carefully avoiding his gaze. Jon, who could not care less, didn’t notice. Desperately trying to maintain a regal disposition and a convincing aura of stoicism. But inside his eyes saw nothing but crimson. His foot was tapping impatiently under the table.  
  
At that moment Brienne burst through the doors, walking swiftly up the hall towards the high table halting promptly whenshe stood in front of Jon, her face somber and concerned.  
  
“My lord.” She started with a bow.  
  
Jon tilted his head in greeting “Lady Brienne...”  
  
She gave no preamble before leaning closely in speaking in semi-hushed tones.  
  
“My lord, I’ve come to bring news of Sansa. I’ve been to her quarters to check on her. I have not seen her since the night before last. When I arrived at her door, I found that it had been semi-obliterated. When I walked into the room, she was nowhere in sight. Only a bloody hand print on the floor, and patches of rubble and dirt near the trunk at the foot of her bed.”  
  
Jon shifted uncomfortably. But kept his face blank so as to give nothing away. Arya and Bran looked on, leaning in to hear more of the conversation.  
  
“The trunk was half empty as if things had been snatched up in a hurry...” Brienne continued breathing a bit more heavily. “I’m deeply concerned. No one else has seen her. I regret to inform you of this when you have such important company in your midst, but this is highly unusual...”  
  
Jon feigned surprise, as if he hadn’t already discovered those facts himself that morning.  
  
“This is very grave my lady, I will see to it at once” He said importantly. Lady Brienne gave a bow.  
  
“If you would need my assistance Lord snow, I’m at your disposal.” She declared.  
  
“Of course.” Jon replied.  
  
Brienne stalked away, Jon looked after looking slightly vexed. He supposed it was only a matter of time before Sansa’s presence or lack thereof was noticed, but he hadn’t wanted anyone else involved until he handled the matter himself. He cursed his passion. If only he hadn’t been so eager to open her door that morning...  
  
 He rubbed his head slowly. He turned his face to the side. His breath caught in his throat. His eyes widening, his jaw clenched...  
  
His two younger were siblings staring at him. Grim and dour expressions covering every ounce of their features.  
  
“What have you done, Jon.” They said in unison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Okay, please, please, please don't hate me, lol. Very late update but it's here nonetheless. The voices are back and now Jon knows Sansa's missing. Never underestimate the calm.
> 
> There will be blood.
> 
> Meanwhile, Sansa and Jaime are a little too inebriated for their own good, will they regret it? Or will they make a habit of it? Last but not least, Arya and Bran aka the three-eyed-raven has seen more than Jon's bargained for ^_^. Update coming soon! (I promise, I've already started on the next chapter ;) ) Hope you've all enjoy(ed)!
> 
> P.S. Thanks to all of you that've been reading so diligently. You guys are the real MVP'S xoxoxoxo


	11. Reap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa are desperately in love but Jon can’t shake the guilt he feels of their blood ties. Their happiness is roadblocked by Jon’s stark sense of morality as well as the voices in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The youngest Stark siblings stage an interrogation, Sansa and Jaime deal with the aftermath of their drunken tryst, And Jon decides to take matters into his own hands,
> 
> with fire and blood.

Jon stared at his siblings, his jaw still clenched. His face morphing quickly from shock to stoic and broody.  
  
“Well?” Demanded Arya, setting her jaw in a firm frown so she had a striking resemblance to Jon at the very moment.  
  
Jon took a breath, his face still severe and brooding. “What are you talking about?” He said evasively.  
  
“What have you done.” Stated Bran again, his voice growing in annoyance.  
  
Jon tilted his head, his eyes still fixed on his brother and sister as he took a sip of his beer.  
  
“You tell me, what is it you _think_ is happening?” He said.  
  
Arya narrowed her eyes, shifting her mouth into a scowl. “Since you insist of playing coy, I’ll spell it out for you. Sansa was sporadic in attendance the whole week of Solstice, she looked as if she’d lost at least a half stone. You announce this...” She said waving in the general direction of Erena and the rest of the Glovers. “...And now Brienne waltzes in here and announces our sister’s sudden and convenient disappearance. So we will ask you again, Jon. What. Have. You. Done.”  
  
Jon’s face remained blank despite the uncomfortable shift in his gut, his cup still raised to his lips.  
  
“I’m just as perplexed as you are.” He said dismissively.  
  
“Spare us the act, Jon.” Said Bran irritably. “We know.”  
  
Jon’s jaw clenched. He lowered his cup, rubbing a hand over his mouth and down his beard.  
  
“Know what, exactly?” He said in a low voice. His face held a bored expression but his heart raced.  
  
They couldn’t.  
  
In no way.  
  
Arya leaned in, her face still set in a frown only a few inches from her brother's.  
  
“It’s the worst kept secret in Winterfell, _my lord_.” She whispered scathingly.  
  
“At least to us.” Bran followed, mediating the sting of Arya’s exaggerations.  
  
A moment passed, Jon stared blankly at his siblings. He remained quiet, resolving to give nothing away by this confrontation.  
  
“Have you hurt her?” interrogated Bran.  
  
“Come now.” Jon whispered dangerously, his face switching instantly from broody to irate.  
  
“Were not talking about physically.” Interjected Arya who now sat back, arms crossed.  
  
Jon sat silently, his face utterly vexed. He sat parallel to his brother and sister as if they were squaring up for some sort of sparring session. Arya in particular. His mind flashed back to the events of the last night he’d seen Sansa, her voice resonating clearly in his mind...  
  
“ _Why do you do this?! This back and forth?”  
_  
_“Stop torturing us!”  
_  
_“What about your duty to our happiness?”_  
  
_“Do not choose to spend your life without me...”_  
  
Jon’s insides plummeted, he felt his throat constrict slightly, his head started to throb. He said nothing but the thoughts rushing through his head must have given away on his face. He lifted his eyes to his brother and sister again, their faces still dead with suspicion.  
  
“Fine.” Arya said bluntly. “Insist on remaining cryptic, It’s no consequence of mine. But I know you’ve done something, Jon. So clean this mess up.”  
  
“Mind your tongue, Arya.” Jon whispered in warning.  
  
“I’m sorry... clean this mess up, _your grace.”_ She repeated, the sarcasm dripping from her words as she turned around and stalked off towards the end of the table where Tyrion sat.  
  
Jon closed his eyes, rubbing his hand over his forehead, looking very reminiscent of Ned whenever Sansa and Arya would quarrel and Catelyn was not near to mediate.  
  
He opened his eyes again to see Bran still staring at him, however his face lessened in it’s severity, looking slightly more sympathetic.  
  
“I’m not sure what’s happened, or what you’ve done.. but whatever it is... _whatever_ it is, Jon...” Bran started somberly...  
  
“Fix it.” he continued  “...If only for Sansa’s sake. I never see her more happy than when she’s in your presence... and vice versa. You two are mirrors of each other... when she’s up in spirits, you’re as high as the towers I used to climb... and when she’s low, it’s as if death walks hand in hand with you. Which is why we’ve left you two well enough alone to carry on as you wish. Gods know happiness has been near impossible for our family to come by.”  He finished matter-of-factly taking a bite of his wheat meal and honey.  
  
Jon had never appreciated his brother more than he did in that very moment. Still resolving to give nothing away, he leaned forward, giving Bran a kiss on the forehead. before standing and grasping his shoulder.  
  
“Look after Winterfell while I’m gone.” He said simply.  
  
Bran’s eyes widened as he looked into Jon’s, grasping him on the arm.  
  
“You’re leaving now?” Bran asked.  
  
“Aye.” Jon replied chugging the remainder of his beer back.  
  
“Jon... just don’t...”  
  
“Don’t what?” Jon replied wiping his mouth with the back of his hand  
  
“Don’ t kill anyone...”  
  
Jon looked into his brothers face... his remaining blank, blinking indifferently as he set his goblet down on the table.  
  
“Don’t Jon.” Bran called after him as turned his back and started to walk out of the great hall.  
  
A sinister smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.  
**********************************  
Dawn broke over the lush green clearing near Harrenhal. A cool wind rippled through the forest as Pieris Rapae fluttered about the dewy white fog that lay over the grass.  
  
Sansa stirred, the sound of the bubbling creek and the chirping of the sparrows bringing her to. She blinked a few times, taking in and trying to make sense of her surroundings. Her vision began to clear, her eyes coming into full focus on the burlap fabric of a high pitched tent. Sunlight seeping through the fibers as her blue orbs lazily watched the illuminated dust rise and settle.  
  
She made to lift her self up from her position but was stalled by the weight of her head. A searing and compressing pain surged through her skull, practically blinding her. A migraine brought on by the generous amounts of Wine she’d taken in the night before. Her eyes snapped shut against the pounding, waiting for her natural morphine’s to mediate her anguish.  
  
She remembered stopping at the clearing, and the feeling of peace that overcame her as she watched the fireflies whiz about the roaring fire that crackled and seared the flesh of Hare and Trout.  
  
She remembered the intoxicating aroma of Venison, salted and roasted above the fire. The sweet and tart taste of summerwine... the guffaws and drunken roars of mirth elicited by the knights around the mossy logs...  
  
The sweet smell of Rosewood and Balsam...  
  
The warmth of lips against her forehead...  
  
The world, fading to black...  
  
Sansa’s eyes opened slowly, she brushed her hand against her mouth, her lips felt tender, her muscles loose and relaxed... Perhaps it was still the wine coursing through her, not having had time to dissipate completely. Her hands migrated to her nethers, she was not sore... but there was an odd tingling sensation around the bud of nerves beneath her lips. Sansa’s eyes closed again...  
  
Black.  
  
Why could she not remember anything? Her eyes snapped tighter still... slightly desperate in her attempts to recollect....  
  
...... Fog, Wine. Laughter. Salt. Fire...  
  
Black.  
  
Balsam.... Rosewood... Balsam....  
  
Black.  
  
Lips, against her forehead... warmth... laughter....  
  
Black...  
  
She rubbed her hand against her heart that began to beat quicker... and quicker... and quicker..  
  
Balsam... Lips.... Black.... Rosewood... Laughter... Balsam... Wine...  
  
_“Sansa....”  
  
“Damn it all....”  
  
“Jon...”_  
  
Black.  
  
Sansa’s eyes snapped open, her breathing strained, labored and quick. Panic was creeping up her spine. She did not know why. But something did not feel right. A strong sense of shame encompassed her being...  
  
Balsam... Rosewood... lips...  
  
“Sansa...”  
  
She whipped her head up to see Jaime, the flap of the tent opening fluttering shut from his entrance. He held a a cloth-full of brown bread, two spotted grey eggs, and warm venison in one hand, and a leather flask-like pouch full of something else in the other.  
  
“You’re up, I see...” He said, but the smile that graced his handsome face slowly melted to consternation. Sansa was looking up at him, her face screwed up in anguish, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She was sitting legs crossed, her hands shaking, eyes brimming with the threat of tears.  
  
“Sansa..” He said again, crouching to her side, one hand resting her underneath her chin, forcing her face up. “What is it?” He asked, worry firmly plastered over his visage.  
  
She looked up at him, her chest rising and falling rapidly..  
  
“Ser Jaime... I cannot recall... what happened last night?” She asked, her voice a fraction over a hoarse croak.  
  
He looked into her face.    
  
His heart sank.  
  
He had been no less drunk than she... he presumed... But she was a woman. Younger... less experienced...body more delicate than his. His level of drunkenness minute compared to hers.  
  
“Please... tell me... what happened? I cannot.. I cannot remember...” She pleaded again... her eyes glossing over, brimming with red, threatening to flood.  
  
And he remembered everything.  
  
The warmth of her skin. The melody of her laughter. The intoxicating scent of lemon and lavender. Fire.. Salt.. the softness of her lips...  
  
_‘Please... Stay with me...’_  
  
The taste of her as he drunk in her sweetness, The way she writhed above him. Her incoherent croons... her smile just as he caused her to reach her brink. The way she gasped and fell into the clutches of sleep after he brought her to her climax.  
  
_“Please...”_ She pleaded again.  
  
Jaime’s emerald eyes gazed into the deep Tully blue that bore into his. Blue eyes full of panic, fear, anguish, and shame.  
  
She was not ready.  
  
“Nothing, my lady.” he whispered, letting the lie seep over his tongue and through his lips.  
  
A wave of relief so powerful in it’s nature flooded over Sansa’s being she thought she’d faint from the intensity of it.  
  
Jamie watched her with a slight twinge of bitterness. He did not know why, but a fraction of him had thought... Had hoped...  
  
But watching Sansa choke out a laugh, her face light up with solace. In that very moment, all bitterness was pushed aside.  
  
He clutched her shaking hands, and lifted his left to wipe away the fresh tears of happiness that had split onto her cheeks.    
  
“I... I thought.. perhaps...” She choked between deep and finally even breaths. Running a hand through her fire kissed locks, smiling in euphoria as the morphine from her surge of relief tempered the pain of her wine induced migraine.  
  
“Yes...” Jaime started “You thought... But I’m sorry to say, your northern roots are no match for summerwine. You went unconscious as if you were an inch away from death...” he said in disingenuous humor. “Besides... necrophilia just doesn’t do it for me” He finished with dry chuckle.  
  
Sansa lifted a shaking hand and gave Jaime a sharp jab on the arm.  
  
“ _Uff!-- “_ Jaime exclaimed with a grunt “Careful now, princess. You’ll crack your breakfast.”  He said with a smile, handing Sansa the cloth-full of boiled sparrow egg, bread and venison.  
  
“Eat.” He said simply, ripping off a piece of her bread and popping it into his mouth. “And while you’re at it, hydrate.” He said, gripping the leather pouch, giving it a shake in front of her.  
  
Sansa realized only now that she was parched. Dehydrated from the ferment of the wine and the exhaustion of the journey. She quickly complied, grabbing the pouch, raising it to her lips, drinking deeply from it.  
  
Sansa looked into Jaime’s face as he sat crouched in front of her, sipping from his pocket flask.  
  
“Thank you...” She said, lowering the pouch from her mouth.  
  
Jaime returned her gaze, “A Lannister always repays his debts.” he said with a smirk.  
  
He lifted himself upright, taking another swig from his pocketflask “The company will be leaving shortly, we’ll ride when you’re ready.” He said, and without another word bent through the burlaps flaps of the tent into the cool of the air outside.  
  
An hour later, the horses were galloping full speed through the willows that twisted into a canopy of green above them. Sansa’s cloak was billowing behind her. The cool afternoon air whipping at her face. She closed her eyes, breathing in the earthiness of the air around her.  
  
_‘Sansa...’  
_  
_‘Damn it all...’  
_  
‘ _Jon...’  
_  
Balsam... Rosewood... Fire.... Balsam...  
  
But nothing happened... Jaime said so himself... Sansa breathed in again, her red hair billowing about her. She smiled, clutching at the reigns of her stallion. Laughing at herself, thinking about the momentary and powerful wave of anxiety she’d felt that morning. The wave of anxiety that made her think, for a moment, that she had somehow been unfaithful to Jon in some way.  
  
Unfaithful.  
  
_’Only you, my love.’  
_  
_’She is no one’  
_  
Sweet lies. Sweet...sweet...  
  
The vision of Jon’s muscled arms wrapped and Erena’s pallid frame  blurred out her vision.  
  
Unfaithful.  
  
What a ridiculous notion.  
  
She gripped the reigns of her stallion a litter tighter, her thighs flexing against the smoothness of it’s white hair as she urged it quickly forward, catching up to the front of the company. She felt alive. She felt free. Blissfully unaware of anything but the wind in her face. Blissfully unaware of the forest slowly morphing into intricate and ornate edifices stacked taller and taller and taller as she and the knights rode rapidly forward.  
  
The wind in her hair came to an abrupt halt, Sansa’s eyes came into full focus as twilight  surrounded her. The horses had slowed to a even and steady trot over a small hill.  
  
“Lady Sansa..” Jaime called out to her, holding a hand out.  
  
Sansa’s eyes lifted from her steed and out before her.  
  
A vibrant blaze of lights flickered and glowed in Ivory and crimson towers. A galley of quaint fishing boats  jostled calmly in the even breeze over Blackwater bay. The smell of fire and bread wafted heavily over the city as long and scaled leather wings flapped audibly against the deep indigo sky.  
  
She smiled, letting an awed breath escape her lips as she looked over the city.  
  
“Welcome home.” Said Jaime as Sansa clasped her hand in his.  
********************************  
A few days had passed and Sansa had finally made herself comfortable in the capital. When she’d arrived, a septa had shown her to her quarters. An airy and spacious room with two sets of floor to ceiling windows that lead out to a balcony railed in by ivory stone, decorated with ornate designs of green vine and rose detail.  
  
This was not the Kings Landing that she’d remembered from a few years before. The citizens were more inviting, citizens that had now grew in number and diversity. Dothraki from the great grass sea, people she’d only heard about in stories and song walked the streets alongside men and women of Andal descent. Bastardized Valyrian was now spoken as recurrently as the common tongue.  
  
Food and jewels from the Summer Isles were bartered and sold in the newly renovated alleyways by the old Sept of the Seven. Men and women from lands as far as Sothoryos and Volantis sat among members of the high council; and children who bore the brands of slaves walked the streets as free as birds, laughing and playing alongside Westorosi adolescents.  
  
Sansa’s sheer white gown floated about her as she pushed open the glass panels of her windows and stepped out onto her balcony. Leaning her head over the ivory railings, looking down at the city below. She was situated high in the palace, a luxury afforded to her at Jaime’s pleasure.  
  
She smiled.  
  
Looking down at the busy city below, the city that did not sleep even this late in the evening, she felt a surreal rush of elation observing the elegant men and women from all walks of life engage in their affairs beneath her. Her eyes moved across the city, looking into the open windows of the people who lived within the vicinity of the palace. She’d never seen a population of people this... free.  
  
Lovers engaged openly in amorous displays of affection in plain sight, not even bothering to pull shut the luxurious silk curtains to hide their trysts. Knights gambled at all hours of the evening, some visiting their brothels as others taught their sons to fence along the winding cobblestone streets. Some of the more chivalrous knights walked their betrothed or their wives arm in arm to their homes. Sansa spotted a particular dark haired knight clad in a light linen tunic and leather trousers, golden insignia glinting above his chest, lift a flaxen haired maiden up in a kiss down by the bay...  
  
Sansa wrapped her arms around her, the air, though warm from the Southron climate, was cooler this high up. A slight reminder of the home she’d just escaped. The home she realized, she’d never see again. Seeing the couple embrace eachother playfully, sent a twinge of something up her chest.. jealousy... envy... perhaps... she remembered the ghost of what it felt like to be so conveniently unaware of anything but the other person.  
  
So conveniently unaware of anything but happiness.  
  
It was then the she realized how desperately she missed Jon. Through her anger, through her attempts to forget, desperation so powerful surged through her it sucked the last ounce of energy she had. A wave of fatigue washed over her body, making her feel limp. She turned her face from the lovers and walked towards her bed, slipping into the sheets and lifting them over her head, burying her face into her pillows...  
  
Sleep.  
  
Sleep..  
  
Forget...  
**********************  
Several hooded figures loomed over the high hill overlooking the capital. A large black Destrier centered in the middle, pawing the ground, as impatient as it’s rider.  
  
Jon pulled his cloaks hood from his jet-black locks. His eyes, intense and focused, brows furrowed as he gazed calmly over the strange metropolis that lay beneath him.  
  
“Scatter.” He said in a low voice to the hooded figures beside him. The six northern men kicked their steeds into a gallop, dust rippling behind them as they spread into the city.  
  
Jon kicked his horse into a charge after his men, descending into the city swiftly, the glow of the candles in the crimson and ivory windows flashing over him like lightning.  He galloped up and up the winding streets, the sound of his destrier’s hooves crashing against the cobblestone like thunder.  
  
“HALT!” bellowed the voice of several men as Jon rode up the streets. He reigned his horse in abruptly, so it reared up it’s hind legs coming to  stop before the men.  
  
“Who goes there?” Came the sharp and pronounced voice of a tall silver haired knight, trotting forward with his sword clanging to his side.  
  
Jon said nothing. His face half hidden by the shadows of the street.  
  
“I said, who goes there?!” shouted the knight again.  
  
Jon remained silent. Observing the knights quietly from above his horse.  
  
The silver haired knight approached the black destier, his chest puffed out proudly, his sword drawn.  
  
“State your name.” He bellowed commandingly.  
  
Still Jon remained silent.  
  
“Are you deaf? I said, State your name and your purpose!” cried the knight in indignation. The rest of the knights approaching swiftly behind him, stanced at the ready.  
  
Jon dismounted his steed. Walking slowly up to the knight. The silverhaired man raised his sword in readied defense.  
  
“Who are you?” he demanded.  
   
Jon looked into his face, stoic, broody, calm, observing the knight from head to foot. He had no time for introductions, no time for games, only time for the business at hand.  
  
“Where is Sansa?” Jon whispered softly, staring into the knights eyes, intensely... focused.  
  
The knight screwed his face up in confusion raising his sword up a little more.  
  
“The new guest of Ser Jaime Lannister?..” Started the knight “What do you want with her?”  
  
Silence, as Jon stared intensely still at the knight.  
  
“Our captain asked you a question, stranger!” shouted another knight from the rear.  
  
“I will ask you again, state your name and your purpose!” demanded the silver haired knight, again.   
  
Jon drew nearer slowly on the men, his face growing more intense.  
  
“Where is Sansa?” He repeated, his voice remaining soft, but growing slightly in threat. His patience waning.  
  
“That is none of your business, outsider!” bellowed the silver haired captain, raising his sword an inch from Jon’s face, the tip grazing the left side of Jon’s cheek.  
  
Jon’s grey eyes deadened. Dropping to the silver glint that toyed against his beard, he closed his eyes against the cool of the steel, taking in a slow and steady breath. The knight’s faced tilted to the side, his eyes scrunched up in confusion at the enigma before him.  
  
It was the last expression that ever crossed his face.  
  
Jon’s eyes snapped open, he unsheathed Longclaw with lighting speed, slashing it through the chain mail that covered the silvered haired knights chest. The knights eyes bulged from his sockets, blood dripped like a faucet from his mouth, flecks splattering onto Jon’s face as he choked and crumpled to the floor.  
  
Jon stepped over his body, advancing on the men who stood before him, they shook with shock mouths agape at their captain who lay dead at their feet.  
  
“Where is Sansa?” Jon whispered again, his syllables more pronounced, his eyes blazing with intensity. The men recovered from their shock, drawing their swords, lunging at Jon collectively with cries that pierced the air. But Jon was too quick, he ducked under one knight slashing his sword effortlessly through another’s chest just as he did his captain. He doubled over dropping to his knees and crumpling to the stone choking on his own blood beside the dead captain. More knights surged forward, Jon slashed through them like a hot blade through snow, whipping his sword about with deathlike precision, men dropping to his feet like flies.  
  
Jon parried the blow of another man, the knight lunged forward aiming at Jon’s heart. Jon knocked his sword to the side with his arm, he gripped the knight with a hand on his shoulder, running him through with his blade. Pulling the sword slowly from the knight’s chest he asked again...  
  
“Where is Sansa?”  
  
The knighted sputtered, eyes staring into Jon’s welling up with death, the only sound he was able to give was the gust of life escaping his body. Jon’s jaw clenched, he ripped Longclaw from the knights body, throwing him to the ground. He rounded on the last knight, his patience completely worn thin, he pulled the man an inch from his face by his neck, lifting him with goliath-like strength  
  
“WHERE IS SHE!!!” Jon roared. His grey eyes burning, so intensely it looked as if a storm was brewing in his irises.  
  
The knight could not respond, choking on the grip Jon had around his throat. He clutched at Jon’s arms sputtering and spitting, saliva dripping from the edges of his mouth as he vainly attempted to gasp for air. Jon’s eyes remained dead, his grip remained firm, waiting for answer.  
  
Nothing.  
  
“Pity.” Jon said simply. He raised his other hand up against the man’s head and with a swift jerk, ripped the knight’s neck rightwards ninety degrees to the right, the sound of the snap cracking like a whip against the warm night air. He dropped dead with a sickening thud at Jon’s feet.  
  
Jon’s breathed in and out slowly, wiping the blood from his face, kicking the heavy bodies that lay at his feet to the side, clearing a path for himself as he looked around him, there were nothing but steps before him, to his left and to his hi right. Steps that lay underneath looming branches of trees heavily laden with jasmine, lilies and roses. He realized his horse would be no use to him.  
  
He tied the destrier to a a hook protruding from the blood-soaked wall nearest him. Giving the great horse a pat on the neck, he turned and hastened up the steps, two at a time.   
  
Landing on the last step, he set foot on a grassy clearing. The area full of  statues engraved with the faces of the mother and the rest of the seven. Trees heavily vined and laden with flora. Jon took a moment to look over the city, what a strange place this was. He’d never seen buildings stacked this high, houses placed so close together, plants growling so thick in such weather...  
  
The weather...  
  
Jon only now realized how warm it was. He shed his blood-soaked cloak, leaving him clad in nothing but his black leather trousers and linen tunic that dipped slightly open just at his neck. He pinched the front of his shirts, pumping it outwards rapidly, attempting to get cool. Adrenaline coursing though his body, warming him. He looked down at his sword, it dripped with blood, Jon admired the eerie but beautiful glint the Valyrian steel had when tinted with the stain of crimson...  
  
He barely noticed the heavy presence of something creeping behind him.  
  
Still taking in the macabre appearance of his sword, Jon’s body suddenly stiffened, a ripple of heat loomed over his neck. Heat that had nothing to do with the weather.  
  
Jon turned slowly, a pair of slit-like bronze eyes, brighter than polished shields stared back at him. A low guttural rumble rippled visibly underneath green and bronze colored scales. Black fangs bared. Scales gleaming like jade in the moonlight as long obsidian colored claws dug into the dirt.  
  
Jon looked up and into the face of the dragon that bore down on him.  
  
So, they were real.  
  
It stared back, teeth bared, the deep and ominous rumble still rolling through it’s long and scaly neck. As Jon’s eyes remained locked on the deep polished bronze of the reptiles slit-like orbs, he felt no fear... no fear but something... else. He had the strange and distinct feeling that those eyes, the eyes that glowed with their own heat could understand him. He approached the beast, it’s slits dilating as it watched Jon move closer. Still staring into the trance-like glow, Jon opened his mouth...  
  
“Where is Sansa?” he whispered.  
  
The dragon stared back at him, for a moment it seemed as if it was frozen, all rumbles halted abruptly, slits remained fixed and unmoving on Jon’s face. A moment later the dragon’s head lowered, tilting to the side. Jon’s eyebrows furrowed in uncertainty, he stood still, waiting but for what he was unsure. The jade colored creature aided him in his bewilderment as it gave a rapid and impatient shake of it’s neck, signaling Jon again.  
  
It was then he understood.  
  
Jon moved towards the beast placing a calloused hand on the deep green scales of the dragons neck. Lifting himself up and onto the beast, he straddled it’s neck right above the crook of it’s wing. His eyes closed as a strange sensation flowed through him. The same sensation he felt when he was near Ghost.   
  
Peace.  
  
Oneness.  
  
Jon barely had time to feel anything else as the dragon’s thick legs broke into a run and pushed powerfully off the earth, it’s gargantuan and moss colored scaled wings spanning out and up beating against the warm night air. Jon raised his head, looking regal, his eyes intense and even. Warm wind billowed through his raven locks as the dragon banked and turned, rising up and up above the towers of what Jon assumed was the palace. It banked again, letting a shriek rip through the wind. Reaching the slanted tiles of a roof beneath a several balconies the dragon reared it’s head back, it’s gold like stare locking on Jon’s deep grey squall. It let a low rumble ripple through its throat, coming to a stop in mid air, beating it’s wings steadily against wind.   
  
Jon slid down the dragons neck into the open air. His sword unsheathed as he fell through the sky, landing on his feet on the red tile panels. He looked up, seeing a small open window within reach. hearing raucous voices, He broke into a run, scaling up the tile and lifting himself through the window.   
  
He dropped to a crouch into a torch-lit hall. Turning to see a group of knights who’d fallen silent, goblets in hand, watching him lift himself to his feet.   
  
Their speech completely mute as they took in his appearance, dark hair, dark clothes-- soaked, face and Valyrian steeled sword both splattered in blood. It took them only one more second to lunge forward, throwing their cups to the side, swords unsheathed and braced at the ready.  
  
“State your name, stranger!” bellowed a burly auburn haired knight.   
  
Jon walked slowly forward, his patience eradicated.   
  
“Where is Sansa?” he whispered, his mind one tracked. Letting his sword glide with a scrape against the cold stone of the hall.  
  
A knight at the very rear gave them away, turning his head quickly to the thick wooden door behind them and quickly back to Jon. Jon caught his brief but obvious movement, a grin crept up his face as he absently made to move through the thick throng of men. They stopped him in midstep pointing a flurry of swords at his neck.   
  
“Don’t move another step.” growled the auburn haired knight, pressing the tip of his sword against Jon’s adam’s apple.   
  
Jon’s jaw clenched, he raised his eyes so they locked with the man in front of him.  
  
“Move.” Jon whispered.  
  
“Over my dead body.” Growled the knight.  
  
Another smiled crept up Jon’s lips.  
  
A sinister smile.  
  
It happened in a flash Jon knocked the knights sword from his hand with jab of his left arm and in one swift movement, slashed Longclaw powerfully in front of him, taking the knights head off with one clean blow. A gush of blood surged from the beheaded knights neck as the body dropped swiftly to the floor with a morbid thud. The shock and outrage registered on the other knights faces, but Jon gave them no time to react. He slashed his blade across two knight’s knees, cutting their legs out from underneath them. They screamed in agony, Jon shoved his blade through them to shut them up. He ripped his sword from their chests and rounded on the next, running him through with the blade. The last two knights lunged wildly at Jon with their fists, he ducked one of their blows shooting up and grabbing the other by his face slamming him into the wall with a crack as his skull collided hard with the stone. He dropped dead instantly.  
  
The last knight pulled his sword out, chest puffed out proudly and foolishly in defense . Jon advanced on him slowly, his sword ominously scraping against the stone again.  
  
“Move.” he said again with a whisper.  
  
The knight lunged at Jon with a roar.  
**************************  
Sansa woke rapidly from her slumber, in her sleep she was almost sure she heard the shriek of a dragon and screams of men.  
  
Sitting up, she strained her ears against the night..  
  
Nothing.  
  
A dream... just a dream... perhaps.  
  
_Slam  
  
Thud_  
  
Sansa shot up again. She knew she hadn’t dreamt that noise. Perhaps the guards posted at her door were rough housing again... too caught up in drink and testosterone to understand the propriety of keeping quiet while she’d attempted to sleep.  
  
She lifted herself off the bed, resolving to tell them to keep it down and let her rest. Walking towards her door she blinked her eyes a few times, trying to adjust her eyes against the darkness. She approached her door slowly.  
  
It was quiet. Too quiet.  
  
_Thud  
_  
Sansa stopped abruptly. An overwhelming surge of paralyzing panic crept up her spine, locking her muscles in place. Something wet was seeping around her toes, the warmth of  the wet pooling around her feet. She looked down, but it was dark, Sansa could not make out what it was....  
  
Still, her heart surged with utter fear. Her breath ragged and shaky, her hand just as tremulous as it reached for the door.  
  
By the time she fingers wrapped around the knob her body was powerfully unsteady with violent tremors. Her toes curling against the wet flood sloshing over her feet.   
  
She pulled the door open, the glint of a sword pulling out of the torso of a man with a bloodcurdling squelch, he dropped before her with a thud.  
  
A familiar set of black trousers stood among a pile of dead bodies before her, her eyes wide and brimming with panic worked their way up, resting on the handsome and bloodstained face of Jon, who looked lazily up from the blade he was cleaning on his black linen tunic.  
  
His eyes rested on Sansa’s face.  
  
“Good evening, my love.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! So Arya and Bran have ousted their brother about the 'worst kept secret in Winterfell' with no shame, successfully coaxing him into fixing his egregious errors. Sansa practically has a nervous breakdown over what she now thinks "never happened" (A couple kisses to the cooch ;)); and now, saved by sweet Jaime's lie, she's happily made it to Kings landing. 
> 
> Only problem is, so has Jon. Full dark. One track mind. Making new fire- breathing friends, giving zero fucks and zero heeds to Bran's last request.
> 
> It's only the beginning ;) Hope you all enjoy(ed)!


	12. Covet.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa are desperately in love but Jon can’t shake the guilt he feels of their blood ties. Their happiness is roadblocked by Jon’s stark sense of morality as well as the voices in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once upon a midnight dreary, while she pondered weak and weary... Jon has come bloody, rapping at Sansa's chamber door.

  
Sansa’s crystal blue eyes stared widely into the the grey of Jon’s burning irises. Her mouth was slightly parted in horror. Her body shaking with fear and shock, paralyzed in the pool of blood that flooded over her feet, soaking the hem of her sheer white gown.  
  
Jon stepped over the body of the knight, sloshing unceremoniously through the river of blood that flowed from his fatal wound. He stood an inch from Sansa’s petrified face, eyes dead with bloodlust, remaining open as he placed a firm kiss on her trembling lips.  
  
He broke the kiss and walked slowly passed her into her open chamber, taking in the space around him. Sansa’s eyes remained solidly open, her lips still parted, body glued to the spot. Her irises darted rapidly back and forth over the grisly scene that lay before her.  
  
Jon placed his sword on the side table in front of the windows that let the warm southron breeze into the room.  
  
“So... this is southron hospitality...” He said nonchalantly flexing his muscular arms working the kinks out, cricking his neck as he looked up into the high and vaulted ceilings.  
  
Sansa broke from her paralysis. Dropping to her knees, reaching for the the man who’s body lay inches from her feet. She pressed her fingertips to his neck, feeling nothing but warm flesh growing cold underneath her touch.  
  
“My gods... he’s dead...” she whispered, her eyes brimming, her voice shaking.  
  
Jon walked out past the windows onto the balcony, looking out at the city below him while Sansa reached out to another body. She sank into the pool of blood, reaching for a burly corpse that was tucked into a fetal position. She recoiled with a gasp when she discovered it’s body, sans head. She scuffled backwards into the room hands trembling wildly. Her eyes brimming with tears of fright.  
  
“They’re dead....” She repeated in a horrified whisper, more to herself than anything. Staring at the massacre in front of her, she whipped her head up staring in Jon’s direction.  
  
Jon had now reached the side table in front of the windows, reaching into a porcelain basin full of fruit, picking up a ripe Dornish Plum, inspecting it curiously.  
  
“Jon.... _they’re dead.”_ Sansa said with emphasis, looking up at him in alarm.  
  
He stared back at her indifferently, before taking a bite of the fruit, letting the juice drip down his lips and over his chin.  
  
“They were in my way.” He said flatly, chewing on the plum, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Sansa’s face.  
  
She looked at him, aghast at his cavalier response. She rose unsteadily to her feet, quickly closing the door with effort, hiding the gruesome scene from her sight. She spread her arms against it once shut, resting her back against the door, closing her eyes momentarily.  
  
Jon observed her, unblinkingly still, taking another bite of the plum.  
  
Her eyes opened, staring unfocused into the room, walking slowly forward, rubbing her hand against her heart. Attempting to soothe and slow it’s rapid beating, she was unaware of the deep crimson stain she was smearing across her chest. Her eyes snapped towards Jon’s direction, looking at him with a mixture of indignation and fear.  
  
“How did you find me?” She whispered shakily.  
  
Jon took another bite of the plum, his eyes all the while intense and focused on Sansa as he walked forward. He circled her like a lion circling prey. Coming to a stop behind her, wrapping a muscled arm around waist, he pulled her body towards him so his face was buried in her hair. He breathed in, eyes closing briefly, drinking in her intoxicating aroma of lavender and lemon. He opened his eyes, one side of his mouth lifted in a lustful grin against her locks...  
  
“I followed your scent.” He purred clandestinely.  
  
Sansa shuddered at his words, her eyes closing in a mixture of fear and arousal. Jon clutched her body steady.  
  
“Why did you come?” Sansa whispered again her face screwed up in trepidation and arousal.  
  
Jon pulled Sansa’s hair from her shoulders, his fingers brushing against her neck lightly. He placed his lips on the bridge between her neck and her shoulder.  Sansa’s breath hitched, her head rolled back onto Jon’s shoulder, her eyes closed in momentary euphoria.  
  
_“Only you...”  
  
“my love...”  
_  
Jon placed another kiss on her neck, sucking on the sweetness of her skin. Sansa’s body rattled, she let out a strained groan as Jon clutched her to him, the cold shock she felt only moments before melting against his heat. Sansa’s eyes closed again...  
  
_“I cannot...”  
  
“My duty...”  
  
“My honor...”_  
  
Jon’s face, his lips, fused with Erena’s suddenly flashed through her mind. The same lips that were sucking vampiricly on her neck...  
  
Sansa broke away from him abruptly.  
  
No.  
  
No.  
  
She would not be this weak.  
  
She walked away from him, putting as much distance as she could between herself and his clutches. She placed her hand on the knob of the door, jerking it open forcefully, her eyes burning, her gaze melting from aroused to indignant again.  
  
“Leave.” She ordered.  
  
Jon stared at her, his eyes blank but intense. With his eyes fixed on Sansa, he took another bite of the plum. He walked towards her slowly. She knew that walk, Sansa stiffened.  
  
“I do not say this in trifle, Jon.   _Leave, now.”_ She said, her voice cracking in her attempt to be adamant. But Jon continued to prowl towards her.  
  
“ _Jon...”_ She started with emphasis, her voice growing in panic as the space between the grew smaller. He was inches from her now, She could smell the husky scent of Cedarwood on him, mixed with the metallic scent of blood. He was too close, she could see the whites of his eyes in the darkness of the room. She broke free from the handle of the door, walking backwards unsteadily to the middle of the room. Jon reached the door, looking bored at the dance they seemed to be performing.  
  
“Jon, this is not a game!” She exclaimed. “This is not the North. Leave, _now._ There are dragons here, Jon. Fire-breathing _dragons._ They will not hesitate to devour the first thing that comes into their sight.” Sansa said, her eyes burning with frustration, her mouth set in a proud, firm line.  
  
Jon tilted his head to the side, turning slowly to the open door. He reached downwards into the pool of blood that seeped into the room, lifting a heavy body swiftly onto his shoulder. Sansa’s face turned into a grimace of confusion.  
  
“What are you---” She started, aghast. watching Jon as he trudged back into the chamber.  
  
“Did you not hear me, Jon?” She continued “I said there are _dragons_ here. They are _large_. They _kill_. they--”  Her speech stopped mid-sentence watching Jon as he walked past her and onto the balcony. With a fluid and effortless motion he’d heaved the body from his shoulders to his calloused hands tossing it over the ornate railing.  
  
It seemed as if it was happening in slow motion to Sansa. A minute the body was suspended in air, it arched with a sickening lurch. The next minute a shriek pierced the air. A jet of fire ripped through the sky, so powerful Sansa could feel the heat from her position in the room. A moment later, a set of obsidian fangs rose swiftly from the abyss beneath the balcony roasting the body in midair as it fell into a large jade and bronze scaled mouth. Jon tossed a head after him, the auburn head of the knight Sansa recognized as the one who had told the jokes before the fire in the wood near Harrenhal. The Dragon let another jet of fire loose from it’s throat, snapping the head into it’s jaws greedily. Jon turned facing Sansa, the jet of fire sending a hot wind about his jet black locks.  
  
“What, these dragons?” He said casually, an eyebrow arched, taking one last bite of the plumb before spitting out the pit as his hair billowed around him.  
  
Sansa was dumbstruck. Her mouth agape, nonplussed. The dragon beat it’s wings heavily against the warm wind. It gave a loud rumbling sniff near Jon’s neck before sending another shriek into the air, rising intimidatingly upward and out of sight above the palace.  
  
Jon wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, throwing in his hand hair ruffling it with his eyes closed before opening them. He stalked towards Sansa, his expression morphing from nonchalant to stony-faced and severe. His jaw was set in it’s familiar clench. His face only a few inches hers, observing her with intense eyes.  
  
A moment of silence passed between them, Sansa still stiff with shock.  
  
“You left me.” Jon whispered.  
  
Sansa’s eyes snapped from fear to defiance, she closed her mouth, her bottom lip trembling taking in a deep breath before she responded.  
  
“I had no choice.” She whispered back, scathingly. Repeating the words he’d said to her the night he announced his engagement.  
  
Jon's jaw clenched again. Irritation rising within him.   
  
“Were you forced then?” he asked.  
  
“You know I wasn’t.” Sansa quipped, eyes narrowed as Jon’s grew more intense.  
  
“Why?” he whispered.   
  
Sansa’s blue eyes widened incredulously. Her breathing quickened with a rush of hot anger, all fear leaked from her as she stepped an inch from Jon, grabbing his face in her hand.  
  
“ _Why?_ ” She spat “ _Why?_ Are you that blind, Jon? Did you expect I’d stay? To be humiliated while you take another? While you _love_ another? In darkened halls locked in that _whore’s_ embrace!” Her grip was tightening on his face with every word she said, her voice rising. Her eyes brimming with the fiery tinge of red.   
  
“Sansa--” Jon started patiently, looking into her face raising his hand to caress the arch of her cheekbone as he’d always done.   
  
“ _Fool!”_ Sansa shrilled pushing him away from her “You expect me to share you? You are _mine,_ Jon. It is all or _nothing_. I will have all of you or none of you. I will not share.” She declared imperiously.  
  
Jon stepped closer to her, his hand outstretched, his face growing in concern and slight humor despite himself at her jealousy as he watched the heat rise up her chest to her neck, inching to her cheeks.  
  
“Oh Sansa... I _am_ your own.” He whispered ardently.   
  
Sansa relented only slightly, watching him walk closer to her. Her eyes closed as he reached her, both of his hands running through her silky locks. Her brimming eyes opened as he stared into hers, remaining open as he placed several kisses on her lips, hoping to calm her.  
  
“Is that the truth?” She whispered between kisses, her voice trembling with hope as her eyes opened looking into his. “Have you ended this madness?”  
  
Jon looked into her eyes, but hesitated. He did not need to say another word before comprehension dawned on her face.  
  
“Have you?” She demanded her face turning hard.   
  
“Sansa--” He started but was not able to finish. A hard and firm slap hit him across the face. Jon braced the sting of it, his eyes closing, praying for patience as Sansa let out a growl of irate frustration.  
  
“Ughh!!! _Damn you, Jon! ”_ She screamed, her faceflushed in fury, shoving him away violently with both her palms, her eyes flooding with irate tears.  
  
“Sansa--” He started again “Please listen to reason...”  
  
“I’ll not listen to anything from you! I’ll not hear another word!” She screamed defiantly, her hands shaking “You’re deceitful, Jon. It’s _appalling_. I should’ve finished the job with the sword that night in mother and father’s chambers and ended this misery for us both!” She spat venomously.  
  
Jon clenched his jaw, shaking his head at her gall, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples in anticipation for the headache that she’d always brought on whenever they quarreled.   
  
“Sansa _this_ is what I’m talking about” Jon scolded his temper rising “this is half why I could not tell you.”  
  
Sansa rounded on him, her face mixed anger and bewilderment.  
  
“ _What_ are you talking about?” she ordered.  
  
“ _This”_ He said stepping closer to her, throwing a hand up. His grey eyes burning “The Tully fierceness you possess, aye. But this Stark fury that runs through and through you, the Stark fury you _cannot control._ I simply could not reveal the nature of my circumstances to you. You’d put yourself and any one who crosses you in danger with that murderous and godsforsaken temper of yours.” He argued.  
  
Sansa’s mouth dropped at Jon’s audacity.   
  
“ _How dare you”_ she whispered murderously “Why don’t you take another look at this massacre outside my door and tell me who’s temper needs to be put in check, Jon Snow. You’re as mad as the Targaryen’s!”   
  
Jon’s jaw clenched, but he ignored her.   
  
“You’ve ended nothing!” She screamed “And now you tell me that my temper is why you’ve kept some covert code of secrecy against me?? What do you _want_ from me, Jon? Would you have me desperate and alone pining for you? Is that what you want?!”  
  
“Enough!” Jon snapped “Never! I made to express the truth to you, to make you understand the morning after your surreptitious departure, but alas...”  
  
“I would that you’d tell me, what is it?!” she screamed.  
  
“This was not my choice!” He shouted back  
  
“I swear to the old and the new, Jon, if you do not _cease_ this deceit! _”_ She raged  
  
“It was the black work of the Glovers, Sansa!”  
  
Sansa fell silent. Her eyes widening, her breathing heavy from the intensity of her shouts.  
  
“What--” She started  
  
“The Glovers” Jon interjected, his jaw clenching again. “They sought to use their knowledge of you and I... against us... to make it known to the  world if did not agree to take Lady Erena’s hand and make her wardeness of the North... I concede that I agreed, I did not want another northern house to fall into extinction. It would be an egregious waste, however warranted...”  
  
Sansa stared at Jon then down staring unfocused at the floor, rubbing a hand over her heart...  
  
“I knew it....” She breathed more to herself than to Jon. Silence fell over them again as both of them calmed for the moment.  
  
“Sansa...” Jon started.  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sansa interrupted staring at Jon, her face screwed up in pain.  
  
“Sansa as I’ve said, I meant to but I could not... I was trying to protect you--”  
  
“Protect me?!” She exclaimed incredulously. “Jon, what was it you told me the day after we took back Winterfell? What did you tell me atop the battlements? That we need to _trust_ each other--  
  
“Aye, those were my words..” Jon started in indignantly advancing on Sansa, standing an inch from her face, cupping her face in his calloused hands. “And what about you? What heed did you give to my words? You should have trusted me. Trusted in my love for you. But instead you abandon the home we’ve fought to reclaim, taking residence here in the south, the place that took our father and brought you nothing but misery. You abandon _me_ with the help of a Lannister at that. You’ve forsaken _everything_ because you ignored the only thing I’ve ever asked of you, Sansa!”  
  
Sansa shook her head in grief, her eyes flooding with tears   
  
“Oh Jon that’s not _fair!”_ She moaned. “How was I to know? You revealed nothing! I _begged_ you! Yet you kept me oblivious--”  
  
“You should have known! “ Jon growled "My only office is to protect our family, to keep us safe and uphold our esteem.To safeguard _your_ honor. Nevermind myself, nevermind my title, I’ve been a bastard all my life, ridicule has been as natural to my life as breathing. But to allow you to be the mockery of seven kingdoms? The subject of derision? If keeping you oblivious was the only way to avoid such a thing _so be it_.”  
  
Grief spilled like a flood from her eyes. She broke away from Jon, gazing at him, her body trembling.  
  
Erena’s hands pallid hands and murky hair flashed before her eyes again.  
  
Her own body submerged in the large porcelain tub. Her red hair floating around her in the water like a blood stain as she ached for the sweet release of death...  
  
Balsam.  
  
Rosewood.  
  
Jaime’s hands... His lips... sinking into her... drinking her in...  
  
Her smile as she climaxed.  
  
 The name she whispered...  
  
_“Jon...”  
_  
_“What happened last night...”  
  
“Nothing, my lady...”_  
  
She recoiled from the visions in her head as she finally remembered what exactly occurred that night. But it couldn’t have...  
  
In no way.  
  
Jaime had said so himself.  
  
Adrenaline and fear thrashed through her body... her eyes widened, her body stiffening as her eyes slowly turned to Jon. Her face, guilt ridden.  
  
“I thought that you...” She started her voice cracking “I thought that... I saw you kissing her, Jon... the night I left... I would that you’d have told me... You cannot imagine the pain... because the love I bear for you is so great... I nearly killed me... it broke my heart to see that perhaps you’d grown to love another...” She whispered.  
  
Whatever ounce of anger was left in Jon melted as he looked into Sansa’s face. He advanced on her, crashing his lips to hers. Sansa’s widened eyes closed in the euphoria of the taste of Jon’s mouth, still sweet from the Dornish plum. Her eyes closed as her tongue entered his mouth, hungrily. Jon returned her ardor, his hands raising the the straps of her sheer gown, tearing them down her arms, exposing her breasts. Sansa groaned, her eyes still welling...  
  
Balsam.  
  
_“Stay with me...”_  
  
Guilt seized through her again, her eyes opening, glimmering with fear as Jon kissed her. Trying to break free from the kiss, she spoke with difficulty as Jon latched on to her lips.  
  
“Jon...Jon...” She started, struggling “Please..mhhmph..please.. I have to tell you something...”  
  
Jon silenced her, deepening the kiss. Lifting her up, wrapping her long, lithe legs around his waist. He pushed the door closed with a bloody hand and latched it firmly. Breaking the kiss only to lift his tunic from his torso. He attacked Sansa’s neck a moment later, latching his lips to the sensitive spot underneath her pulse that never failed to make her body quake. Sansa shuddered expectantly. Her eyes brimming with a mixture of tears of guilt, fear and arousal.  
  
“Jon... please I have to... I need to tell you...” She said half panicked, but the other half of her was being taken over by a wave of lust so violent it was becoming hard to speak. Her fingers gripping Jon’s broad shoulders tighter and tighter as he sucked on her skin.  
  
“Jon... I have to...” She attempted again, but Jon, already hard and pained from arousal, broke his grip from her neck, his mouth hovering a centimeter from hers.  
  
“Stop talking.” he whispered in command, fixing his lips onto hers again, all the while walking towards the bed centered in the middle of the room. He dropped her to the bed, sparing no minute in between movements as he began ripping the sheer material of her gown, stripping her naked.  
  
“Jon please... I must....” She started, attempting to speak again while Jon undressed her. But he silenced her, laying a trail of kisses down her belly to the lips beneath her navel.  
  
“Jon.. _ahhhhhhh”_ she gasped, arching up as he began to eat her, hungrily. Every word she wished to utter vanished from her lips, replaced with incoherent moans. Her hands shot towards his hair, gripping his strands tight as he drank her juices in. Breaking from her nethers he lifted himself up to her lips, letting her taste herself. She was so lost in the eroticism of it all she did not notice Jon part legs and slips his fingers into her.  
  
“Ohhh-- my... _gods...”_ She gasped against Jon’s lips _,_ her eyes snapping open then shut as he worked his fingers in and out of her wetness, falling into a steady ‘come here’ motion with his index and middle finger.  Sansa could feel herself brinking, clutching one hand in his curls and the other on his pronounced and rippling abdominal’s. Jon’s fingers pulled out of her as she began to gush. Sansa cried out in lascivious frustration, Jon smiled at her ardor.  
  
She reached for Jon’s trousers viciously, tearing at the ties, letting his length spring loose. She let out a moan of satisfaction as she stroked it, garnering a lusty and pained growl from Jon in response. She kissed him as she did so, reveling in the fact that he was helpless in this state. It only took a moment for him to regain control, however, grabbing the back of her head, crashing his lips into hers again. Sansa continued her efforts while trapped in the kiss, feeling him grow harder and harder until he was painfully firm and erect. She guided him into her, her eyes snapping shut as he pierced her pink flesh.  
  
Jon’s groans grew slightly louder as he entered her warmth inch by inch.Sansa shook with violent tremors, as Jon filled her to the brim, holding himself steady against her as he filled her to the hilt.  
  
“Yesssss.... Jon.” She moaned.  
  
His eyes closed in euphoria at her croons, crashing his lips to hers again he pulled out of her and slammed back into her warmth.  
  
And again  
  
And again.  
  
And again.  
  
His pace began to pick up, the bed creaking from the intensity of his throws. Sansa cried out Jon’s name hoarsely craning her head back, sweat rolling down her neck. Jon hammered in and out of her, enjoying the sound of his girth meeting her wetness. His movements grew more fervent, getting more and more aroused with every slap his cock made. Sansa bit Jon’s lip roughly, completely immersed in lust, clutching at his chiseled and muscular arms that were now protruding with veins. She latched a hand on the thick of his neck, leaving a bloody handprint around it, earning a growl from Jon in response. She threw her weight so she was straddled on top of him.  
  
With her hand still around his neck, she latched her thighs around his waist, riding him hard. His hand gripped her hips, leaving a smear of blood across her pelvis, bruising them. He groaned at the silky feel of her wetness, the feel of her sliding back and forth with such powerful intensity.  
  
“Fuck me.” She ordered, brazenly.  
  
 She was not prepared for the torrent Jon brought up to her as he obliged, pounding his hips up violently. Sansa’s eyes rolled back, her breath lodged in her throat as she threw her head back.This felt perfect.This felt so good. Her cheeks flushed, her hair now drenched in sweat. Jon put a large strong hand on the small of her back as she rode him, tilting her back so she was angled slightly, hands still clutched on his neck.  
  
 He drew her head down roughly in a kiss, slowing down his movements tauntingly for a second to bring her back to him. The minute her blue eyes flashed open, he picked his speed up again slamming into her wildly. Her eyes snapped shut, stifling a cry, biting Jon’s lip, drawling blood  
  
Sansa could not breathe. She began to feel a wave of electricity coursing through her as Jon’s cock plunged in and out of her tightness  
  
“Yesssss..Fuck me please...” She groaned desperately against his lips. Jon flipped her so she was on her back again, her head laying near the foot of the bed. He tore her hand from his neck, pinning both her arms above her head.  
  
“Tell me.” He ordered, Slamming into her once.  
  
Sansa grunted loudly, bruised lips hanging open, her eyes unfocused.  
  
“Tell me.” He said again slamming into her once more picking up a grueling pace.   
  
“I want to hear you say it to me.” He growled in a whispper lips pressing lightly above hers.  
  
_“Uhh--”  
  
“Uhh--”  
_  
“I said tell me” He ordered again, slamming into her with a torturing force.  
  
“Fuck me...” She whispered back, eyes still unfocused.  
  
Slam  
  
Slam  
  
“Again.” Jon ordered.  
  
“Fuck me.” She groaned, only a little louder this time.  
  
Slap  
  
Slap  
  
“Again.” Jon growled against her lips, thrusting into her harder and harder and harder, her hips rising with every one of Jon’s throttles.  
  
“Fffffucckkk.... ahhh--” She gasped  
  
“ _Again”  
_  
“ _Fuuuuuuuckkkk”  
_  
“Again.” Jon ordered relentlessly. Sansa began finding it near impossible to speak, she could not breath, could not think, could not see Jon even as her eyes lay open, unfocused, completely lost in pleasure, her cunt throbbing as Jon pounded into her, making her deliciously sore.   
  
“ _Again”_ Jon ordered once more.  
  
_BOOM_  
  
_“_ Lady Sansa!” Shouted a voice.  
_  
“Again.”_ Jondemanded, disregarding the voices outside the threshold.  
  
Sansa’s grunts started morphing steadily to screams.  
  
BOOM  
  
BOOM  
  
BOOM  
  
Light began to break into the the chambers through tiny cracks in the door made by the the forces behind it.  
  
Jon’s darkened and lust-filled eyes lifted to the door, his lips still hovered above Sansa’s, Her hands were still pinned by his firmly above her head,  the brunt of his thrusts still pummeling through her. His cock plunging into her cunt mercilessly. Her eyes now snapped shut, electricity was surging through her, her eyes were brimming with tears of pleasure.  
  
Jon smiled against her lips, closing his eyes against at the melody of her screams.  
  
He wanted them to hear.  
  
He didn’t want to pretend anymore.  
  
Perhaps they’d like to watch as well?  
  
A figure stiffened behind the door.  
  
“LADY SANSA, ARE YOU ALRIGHT?”  
  
She could hear the faint sound of someone calling her name... But it felt so good. This was all she wanted. Only this... only Jon.. Inside her... the heat of him. His earthy smell of cedarwood, she didn’t even care that he was covered in the blood of the men he killed to get to her. That she was covered in the same. Sweat and blood and flushed lips, Crimson stained bruised hips. The morbid thought, oddly visceral, coxed her to her brink. Her body began to seize up.....  
  
Slam  
  
BOOM  
  
Slap  
  
_“AGAIN”  
_  
BOOM  
  
“ _Unnghhh Fucckkkkkk”_  
  
“LADY SANSA!!!”  
  
_Scream  
_  
BOOM BOOM BOOM  
  
Sansa was blinded by white, her eyes glazed over, her bruised  and swollen lips preparing unconsciously to let one last cry pierce the room...  
  
But Jon’s lips crashed to hers, silencing her while her orgasm ripped through her like a blade. Jon kept his lips pressed to hers, his muscles flexing, the sheen of sweat on his broad back glistening, holding her steady as she convulsed.  
  
BOOM  
  
BOOM  
  
The door began to crack, a piece of wood shot from near the hinges and skidded onto the floor next the bed.  
  
BOOM  
  
”LADY SANSA!!”  
  
She began to calm, her eyes still glazed over, shuddering and swallowing hard .  
  
BOOM  
  
“LADY SANSA!”  
  
The door was jostling free from it’s hinges, the heavy iron screw lifting slowly out of the grooves with every throttle.  
  
Jon raised his eyes again to the door, his jaw clenching as he placed one last kiss on Sansa’s swollen and flushed lips. He pulled out of her slowly, irritated by the booming.  
  
Sansa had only brinked once, instead of three or four times like Jon preferred.  
  
And he didn’t even get to finish.  
  
He pulled his trousers up, cricking his neck with an audible pop. He walked slowly through the room, stretching nonchalantly, picking up crimson stained Longclaw.  
  
Sansa lay on the bed, still recovering from the intensity seconds before, her chest heaving.  
  
BOOM  
  
BOOM  
  
CRRRRRRAACCCKKK  
  
A troop of men burst through the door, sending it toppling downwards. Roaring with swords drawn, sloshing through the blood at the foot of the entrance,  
  
One man was leading the throng, however.  
  
He looked around the room, taking in his surroundings quickly...  
  
The blood flooding on the floor.  
  
The dead and mutilated bodies of his comrades.  
  
And the naked form of a woman shuddering on the bed.   
  
His eyes widened, then narrowed, flashing to Jon who was walking towards him lazily, jaw clenched. Jaime withdrew his blade rapidly.  
  
Jon lunged at him.  
  
Their swords crashed against each other with a deadly spark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! First things first, this chapter was gonna be WAYYYYY longer, but it seemed more appropriate that I split apart the juiciness for you ;)
> 
> 2\. Sansa and [Dark] Jon reunion! And she's now had the pleasure to make his acquaintance, bloody, brutal...black soul and all. 
> 
> 3\. King Jon still gives zero fucks which= Kink, kink, kink! Hot sex was bound to happen, It's Jon and Sansa. Plus, I felt like staying true to my explicit tag--no holds barred, lol.
> 
> Needless to say, now that honesty (for the most part) has been exchanged, are we on our way to a final resolution? Will Jaime put a monkey wrench in their plans? And since they're in the South, is there someone else they need to be worried about? ;)
> 
> Stay tuned! Shit's gonna hit the fan! Thanks for reading! I hope you all enjoy(ed) ^_^


	13. Atonement.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa are desperately in love but Jon can’t shake the guilt he feels of their blood ties. Their happiness is road blocked by Jon’s stark sense of morality as well as the voices in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A battle ensues between The Kingslayer and the King in the north. Matters grow more severe in the aftermath when individuals face the consequences of their actions.

The force of the attack from Jon’s lunge sent Jaime skidding back slightly, bracing the weight of Jon’s blow. Teeth gritted, they stood with their swords barred against each other, each forcing their weight behind the attack determinedly, unable to move an inch.  
  
Jaime put his weight behind another lunge, his teeth gritted, sending out a growl. Jon reeled back but lunged again, his sword clashing with another spark.  
  
And again  
  
And again  
  
Each blow on Jaime heavier than the last. Jon moved swiftly, hitting Jaime with precision and calm fury. Jaime spun to hit Jon on his weak side but Jon parried the blow with psychic accuracy, sending the weight of Jaime’s own attack back on him so he stumbled backwards into his men.  
  
“SER JAIME!!” The knights cried.  
  
Jaime recovered, hurling himself forward from his men’s clumsy clutches. He sent two swings rapidly towards Jon’s head with his sword. Jon ducked twice, his hair whipping back from his face revealing amusement and blood-thirst in his eyes as he return attacked, lifting himself forwards with a jump towards Jaime, sending a swift jab towards the artery in his neck gladiator fashion. Jaime’s eyes widened seeing sudden death flying at him so quickly, he arched himself sideways throwing his full weight in his dodge that he stumbled. His sword clanged out of his grasp onto the floor of the chamber...  
  
Sansa had finally caught her breath, her eyes closing briefly to savor the euphoria of the love making she’d just recovered from. Her blue eyes, still tinged red from her tears of pleasure, opened slowly. Loud clanging and clashes bringing her to as her senses gathered. She lifted herself up from her position on the bed, still smeared in blood and sweet, pieces of her hair sticking randomly on her neck and back, dampened from her exertions. Turning her face to the sounds, her eyes widened, panic rising like bile through her. Horror beginning to etch itself like an artist’s sketch on her face as she observed Jon inching his way towards Jaime who was scrambling to grab his sword back from the ground.  
  
She suddenly realized she was naked. Snatching up the bloodstained sheets, she hastened to cover herself, hoping to block her nudity from the view of so many men. With the sheets clutched around her breast she scuffled slowly off the bed with what strength she still had, her eyes never leaving the scene in front of her.Jon was making his way slowly towards Jaime who was still crouched above the ground reaching for the sword.  
  
“Pick it up, Kingslayer.” Jon said softly. With what little honor was still left in him in this state, one thing was certain. Jon would never attack a man who was disarmed. It was not in him. And a lot less of a challenge.  
  
“Go on, hurry.” Jon coaxed. But the the blood on the ground was causing the sword to slip farther and father away from Jaime’s grasp.  
  
Sansa’s eyes were watching a shipwreck. She could not pull her eyes away but the sight of the chaos sent a wave of horror through her.  
  
“Jon...” She croaked, her voice barely above a whisper, hoarse by her screams moments before.  
  
“Jon... Jon.. no...” She whispered again, struggling to scuffle from the bed as large as it was.  
  
“Ahhhh” Jaime cried out in frustration, his fingers touching the tip of his sword before it slid from his touch again. Jon continued to prowl towards him. The men paralyzed with inaction. Confused on what to do next.  
  
Sansa reached the edge of the king sized bed, slipping from it and onto the floor with a light drop. Her legs weak and shaky, still slightly handicapped as the remnants of her climax trickled through them.  
  
“Jon... please... no..” She croaked again, her voiced raised slightly above a whisper now. Reaching her hand out as she crawled toward the them, desperate to stop another bloodbath.  
  
Jon continued to prowl towards Jaime as he struggled, his sword glinting maliciously in the firelight the hall was letting into the chamber. He was too close now, his weapon raising slowly above Jaime’s head. Sansa was attempting desperately to raise herself to her knees, still clutching the sheets around her.  
  
“Jon....no” She tried again, her eyes fraught with fear.  
  
Jon raised his sword, stanced at the ready to aim a potential blow at Jaime’s neck. Sansa panicked, Jon was too close to Jaime who was a mere inch from the sword that’d eluded his grasp. Sansa breath caught in her throat. Jon would slash Jaime through. He was too close. Too close. She had to stop it. She raised to her knees, the sheets trailing behind her like a veil.  
  
“ _Jon NO!”_ She cried, her panic sending a wave of adrenaline through her sending the volume of her voice up.  
  
He finally heard her, switching his attention briefly to where she knelt. A look of concerned flashed through his eyes, seeing her knelt on the floor, bloodstained and scared. He made to walk to her.  
  
It was then that Jaime seized the moment. Snatching his sword up with a desperate grasp he sent a powerful slash towards Jon’s stomach, piercing him.  
  
Sansa eyes widened with shock. Her cry pierced the room.  
  
Jon winced, clutching at his belly, raising his hand to his face seeing the pool of blood seeping over his fingers from the wound like a waterfall.  
  
“Now!” Jaime shouted. Like a flash, a half dozen of his men covered Jon, shoving him to his knees roughly in his vulnerability, shackling him with irons.  
  
“NO!” Sansa screamed, lifting herself to her feet with a mighty effort stumbling towards them.  
  
“Take him.” Jaime ordered to his men, looking down at Jon with distaste. Jon looked up at Jaime with a bloodthirsty glare, jaw clenched, licking the side of his mouth before spitting a wad of blood swiftly to the floor. He was lifted up by the men roughly and led out of the doorway, his blood leaking from his wound, leaving a trail behind that mixed with the crimson pool already flooding on the ground.  
  
Sansa ran quickly towards them, reaching for Jon, crying out to him before Jaime intercepted her efforts. Holding an arm out and catching her before she could move any further.  
  
“JON! No! Ser Jaime, let go!!” She screamed as she struggled against his hold. But Jaime held her back, his strength an anchor on her attempts to make her way towards her brother.  
  
“Sansa--Sa--San-Sansa..” he attempted between her jolts and scratches. But she was beyond consolation. Her eyes were wide fear and welling with tears, frantic to get to Jon.  
  
“SANSA” Jaime bellowed. Moving his hands from her shoulders and onto her face, pulling her attention towards him.  
  
“He is beyond your help now.” He explained calmly. His eyes dead with severity. His face grim.  
  
Sansa looked into his face, her eyes fixed in a grimace of fear and disbelief.  
  
“Ser Jaime... if you do not unhand me and let me towards my brother I will run you through with your own weapon,” She threatened, malice dripping from her words as her hand inched towards then rested on the hilt of his blade. Her face morphing from fear to anger.  
  
Jaime, taken aback by her threat recovered instantaneously, shifting from calm to severe.  
  
“Sansa, look at this.” he ordered, shifting her face to the macabre scene at the door.  
  
“Look at the bodies of my men! Laid strewn and bloody at the foot of your door! There are more down near the streets! Dead. All dead! There would have been more causalities tonight had I not shackled the king in his attempts to take my own life. It had to be done.  Look at yourself!” He cried, his grip tightening on her face “You’re covered in blood, your eyes lay privy to the ghastly sight of these corpses on full display as if you’re watching a tourney! If your brother had any love for you at all he would’ve shielded you from such horrors! But no, you lay bare, clad in _nothing_ as he prepared to repeat the chaos in your presence!” He scolded.  
  
Sansa’s defiance morphed again to fear. Despite what she felt she knew Jaime was right. There was no way to deny the truth when it lay at her door, literally. Remnants of the violence soaking the stone of her chambers, the white sheets clutched above her breasts, her hair matted and soaked, now curly and damp. She began to shiver as realization flooded over her.  
  
“What... what happens now?” She whispered her eyes shakily turning towards Jaime’s.  
  
He calmed, releasing his iron grip on her face. He dropped his hands to hers, pausing before he answered.  
  
“Sleep. And in the morn, wash... dress yourself.” He said quietly, turning from Sansa and heading to the door.  
  
“Ser Jaime..” She choked, reaching out a hand, palms up in pleading. “What happens now?”  
  
Jaime stopped in his tracks turning his face slightly.  
  
“He will have to answer for this, my lady.” And without another word shut the door behind him, leaving a distressed Sansa in his wake.  
**************************************  
A cold splash of water hit Jon around the face, waking him from his half sleep in the cold and dark dungeons below the keep.  
  
“Wake up, swine.” Sneered a haggard looking guard. Overweight and clad in filthy and tattered clothing.  
  
“I ‘eard yousa king or sumfin’.” the guard continued holding a wooden bucket in his grubby hands, fingernails filthy as he tinkered with it. Jon opened his storm colored eyes, locking them on the ugly dungeon keep between his raven colored locks.  
  
“Musna ‘ave been a good’un if yous ‘ere ‘ung up like this” He said with a mad cackle, barring his brown and yellowed rotten teeth.  
  
Jon was on his knees in a dingy cell, his muscled arms strung up on both sides with heavy chains. He winced slightly, the wound in his stomach itching horribly, patched up inconsequently with tattered rags.  
  
“It ‘urts dunnit? Tha wound of yers.” Sneered the guard jeeringly. “Betcha get bet’er treatment atcher fancy castle huh? Well yer na there now, is ya? Yer ‘ere in da sowf, in Kings Landin’.You’ll get nuh special treatment ‘ere, pretty king. So you’d bet’er make yerself mighty comfortable.” He growled with an ugly smile.  
  
Jon stared at the guard, his hair dripping with icy water, he turned his eyes from the guard on onto the floor, eyeing rocks and pebbles strewn about between hay at his knees. He lifted himself up to his feet with what little give the chains gave him.  
  
“Can’t move can ya? HA! Like I’s said, pretty king, you’d bet’er be making yerself mighty comfortable indeed. This yer ‘ome now! An’ these rats ‘ere gonna be your friendly lit’le neighbors.” He chided menacingly in sick amusement.  
  
Jon threw his wet hair back. Locking his eyes on the guard once more, as he continued to heckle him. A smile creeping up the side of his mouth.  
  
“Betcha got a lotta pretty girls up there in yer pretty kingdom, pretty lord. I betcha fuck’em pretty and aftawerds give ‘em pretty little trinkets and the like, wonder wha they’d think of you now, pretty king. Strung up like a scarecrow all pathetic like. All dirty and pow’less, hahaha! SOME KING-- AHHH!!!”  
  
The guard screamed, clutching the front of his face that was now bleeding profusely. Dropping his filthy hand from his chapped and scaly lips, two rotten and bloody teeth fell from his mouth. Jon had kicked up a rock from his feet and hit the guard square jaw, so quickly the guard hadn’t even seen it coming. He threw another splash of water at Jon’s face plus the whole bucket at the bars on Jon’s cell. Cursing madly.  
  
“You’ll pay fer tha one, pretty lord! Some ones ‘ere to see ya!” He cried, pointing a dirty and overgrown nail at Jon before hobbling away unevenly and yanking the door open.  
  
A heavy booted foot stepped through the door, followed by a gold breast plate.  
  
“M’lord” rasped the dungeon keep, his hand over his mouth choking back blood.  
  
Jaime stepped down into the dungeon, observing the guard with mild aversion.  
  
“Go.. handle this” Jaime said with a grimace and a wave towards the guards bloody face.  
  
“Yeb m’lord”  croaked the guard semi-coherently, waddling out of the dungeon.  
  
Jaime turned, walking slowly towards Jon’s cell. He stood in front of the bars, observing Jon with a  frown. Jon matched his look, jaw clenched, stormy eyes burning.  
  
“I would say it’ a pleasure, however, considering the circumstances...” Started Jaime.  
  
Jon stayed silent. His face blank, water ripping down his handsome face.  
  
“Yet here you are... unannounced... uninvited.... seeking...something... have you found it then?” Jaime asked  
  
Silence.  
  
“Have you found it, lord king? That which you seek... between the blood and gore you’ve spilled?” he asked again, green eyes boring into grey. Still Jon stayed silent. Observing Jaime through half lidded stormy eyes.  
  
“Yes well... I’ve never remembered you to be a man of many words--”  
  
“And I’ve never remembered you Lannisters to be anything other than thieves.” Interjected Jon softly.  
  
“Thieves?” Said Jaime, an eyebrow arched.  
  
“Thieves.” Repeated Jon “You... stole the use of my baby brothers legs... your father... stole the life of my brother Robb... your sister... couldn’t resist the treacherous blood in her veins... stole the life of her own husband then stole the crown and gave it to your bastard son Joffrey who then stole the life of my father. Your sister again, true to form... after the demise of all three of your children, couldn’t help but reached her snakelike grip out and steal the throne for herself before you did the world a favor with the only honorable bone in your body and steal the life from her... I don’t know if I should thank you or be disgusted. And now you steal my sister from the only home that’s kept her safe and happy. So yes... thieves. That’s all you are.” Jon finished his eyes locked dead with Jaime’s as he spit another wad of blood to the floor.  
  
He had struck a nerve. Jaime’s jaw clenched, any mention of Cersei was a sore spot. The world knew it, and so did Jon.  
  
Jaime advanced closer to the bars, glowering at Jon. His breathing quickening.  
  
“Your sister surrendered herself willingly.” He said, wisps of malice dripping from his words.  
  
Jon glowered back. An ominous feeling creeping up his spine. A shiver hit him, one that had nothing to do with the icy cool of the water still dripping from his raven curls.  
  
“She begged for it. Begged to be taken away from you. From the pain you caused her with the announcement of your engagement. Aye, I know of the love between the two of you. Which makes it rather rich that you’d stand here, in your chains, mentioning Cersei to me. I saved your sister from you. _I_ gave her what she asked for. _I_ returned the happiness you stripped from her by giving her an escape. And _I_ gave her the pleasure she asked for the the very next night she left you...”  
  
Jon jolted forward. His eyes blazed with jealous fury, veins protruding from his muscled arms, his chains clashing and creaking, allowing him only a inch from the iron bars, holding him back from throttling Jaime.  
  
“That’s right, your grace. Try. But it will change nothing. It won’t change the truth.” Jaime dug, looking into Jon’s face as he jolted forward again  ignoring the splashes of water flicking through the bars at his face.  
  
“Bloody swine!” Jon growled between gritted teeth.  
  
“Perhaps.” Said Jaime coolly “But thief? I took nothing that wasn’t given to me freely.” He finished superiorly.  
  
Jon looked ready to kill. The strain from his efforts to attack Jaime had reopened his haphazardly patched up wound.  
  
Jaime said nothing more. With one last cold look at Jon from navel to head, he turned and rapped at the door, calling for the guard. The dungeon keep opened the door forcefully, rearing his ugly head.  
  
“See that you redress his wound.” Jaime said shortly, walking swiftly past him and out of sight.  
*******************************  
Night had fallen over Kings Landing as Sansa, in her hooded cloak, made her way silently down to the dungeons. The castle was eerie at night. The torchlight was glowing, flickering bleakly, casting ominous shapes the deeper she descended down the halls. She was not sure where she was going, even after paying off a guard at her door with a ruby; his directions were so lengthy and obscure, she had already forgotten his instructions by ‘turn left at the crypts’. She had passed the crypts a half an our back. She was beginning to panic. Nothing looked remotely close to where she should be. The deeper she descended into the Keep, the darker the halls got. As if the master architect or the builders had decided the part of the castle should be forsaken, and all who had the misfortune of taking residence there were to be forsaken as well. Decidedly and inescapably damned.  
  
The mere thought brought panic and fear to Sansa’s chest. Her footsteps quickened to a jog. She was was determined, she had to find Jon.Turning down another set of winding steps, her slippers clipped and clapped on the stones frantically. An open corridor, dimly lit but still luminescent enough for her to see, lay before her. She could barely make out the shape of a rounded and hunchbacked figure looming at the very end of the hall. Beside her were rows of rotting doors, centered between the decaying wood were rusted bars. She was close. A wave of relief and adrenaline rushed through her as her pace quickened down the hall. She lifted her hood a little higher over her locks, enough so her face was half obscured.  
  
“’Ooo goes there?” Rasped the ugly dungeon keep as Sansa’s footsteps announced her arrival. Sansa kept her hood raised above her head, wary of revealing herself too soon in case the  guard were to expose her.  
  
“I said ooo goes there!” rasped the dungeon keep again, lifting himself up from his slouched position, waddling forward to inspect the oncoming visitor.  
  
“I’ve come to see the prisoner” Announced Sansa proudly.  
  
“Ooo ahh you?” He growled, squinting his beady eyes. Sansa caught a glimpse of his sallow skin in dim torchlight, she could smell the sourness of his breath even standing a few feet from him. She said nothing.  
  
“State your name stranger. No vis’tors allowed for the prisnah unless expressely ordah’d by Ser Jaime Lannistah or othawise... an you don’ look like no Lannistah to me. The lit’le I’s can sees uh ya.” he growled.  
  
Sansa inched forward, trepidatiously. With all the courage she had, she reached inside her cloak, pulling out a heavy rock she’d gathered from one of the dingy corridors in case it came to this. She allowed him to inch a bit closer to her. He was within full sight now, Sansa could see the brown and yellow of his rotting teeth, she could smell the mustiness of his tattered clothing. She raised her arm, shuddering with anxiety of the blow she was about to inflict.  
  
“Oh.... M’lady... apol’gies miss... I didn’t recognize ya...” Rasped the guard, to Sansa’s surprise. She was taken aback, staring at the guard beneath her cloak. She pushed her hood back, revealing her face.  
  
“You..you know me?” she asked, uncertainly. Lowering her hand with as much inconspicuousness as she could  
  
“Yes m’lady. Ser Jaime described ya.. said yous was a guest of ‘onah. Said yous was to be respected and kipt safe, yous was.’e said it to all the guards. I’ll ‘low yous in. But only for a momn’t I can. Prisnah’s not ‘lowd vistah’s ‘es not.” croaked the guard, and with a uneven shuffle he pulled a set of heavy iron keys from his dirty trousers and hobbled to the dungeon door, inserting the key and giving it a noisy turn.  
  
He let the heavy rotting door open, moving aside to let Sansa in. A cold draft hit her the minute she stepped slowly into the dungeon. The strong metallic smell of blood wafted through her nose. Through the darkness, a small glint of light from the feeble torches on the walls cast a faint glow into the cell. A heavy shudder filled her being as her eyes rested on the sight in front of her.  
  
Jon, stretched out in a crucified position stood in the middle of the cell. Muscled arms raised lankly in heavy iron chains. His thick black locks hung over his face, downcast in fatigue. She could make out a thin film of linen wrapped flaccidly over his torso, deep with crimson, clearly old and in need of a change.  
  
Her eyes welled with tears, horror overtaking her at the state of him. She rushed forward.  
  
“Jon...” She choked, her hands grasping at the bars.  
  
Jon rose his head slowly, his grey eyes peering tiredly between his jet-black curls. Stormy orbs stared into Sansa’s, dead, blank.  
  
“My gods, _Jon_...” Sansa cried, reaching her hands frantically in between the bars, stretching them out and smoothing his hair back from his face. He was pale, and cold, dark circles were beginning to form around his eyes.  
  
“Sansa...” Jon said. Surprisingly audible even though his visage suggested otherwise. He closed his eyes in a long blink against the feel of her touch. Her hands warmed his chilly skin. He took a few strenuous steps closer to the iron bars. Sansa was able to get a better grip on his face. Frantically rubbing her hands back and forth against his cheeks trying to bring some color back into his face. Staring into his tired eyes, She pulled as close as she could to the space between the bars, placing a deep kiss on his lips. Her eyes closed in the embrace, half pained half euphoric.  
  
Jon’s eyes remained open, staring at Sansa inauspiciously between kisses. She finally broke away from his lips, opening her eyes to look into his: dead and blank, the shade circling underneath causing the grey to appear that much more striking.  
  
“Gods... this wound...” She said, switching her gaze from his eyes his torso, hovering a hand above the deep gash that was covered with the soiled linens. “This must be cleaned at once, who’s tended to this? Why haven’t these rags been changed? Why has the wound not been stitched?...” She whispered frantically.  
  
Jon watched her with heavy lidded eyes as she fussed. Remaining silent while she tugged at the soiled cloth, letting it drop loose to the ground. Sansa sucked in a sharp intake of breath, the wound was deep, sliced right through to the muscle, becoming slightly inflamed. She choked back a swallow, fighting the imminent threat of tears back before ripping the hem of her gown and reaching gingerly in between the bars, wrapping the cloth around Jon’s torso as tight and as accurately as she could.  
  
Still, Jon continued to watch her. Soundless, blinking slowly as she jerked him lightly to and fro, tying the linens together at his side. She looked slightly disappointed at her work, the gash had already begun to seep through her makeshift bandage.  
  
“Jon...” She choked, kissing him quickly before grasping him around the neck. “We must get you out of here, _now._ This wound... you must be fed at once” She motioned towards his stomach. “I’ve a rock... it will be simple... I’ll knock the guard unconscious, steal the keys... no one will know... and by the time they notice we’ll have already gone--”  
  
“Do you not need to ask permission from Ser Jaime before you release me from my bonds, my love?” Interjected Jon.  
  
Sansa froze. She blinked, the last bits of her sentence stopping short at her throat. She stared into Jon’s eyes, her hands dropped slowly from his neck.  
  
“No...Jon... I am no one’s hostage, a neither will you be the quicker we get you away from this prison” She said carefully. Her eyes intense, her chest building with the threat of anxiety.  
  
Jon stared at her, eyes baleful and burning. “Indeed... unlike myself, you’re a guest, no doubt?”  
  
“I may come and go as I please.” She returned.  
  
“A free woman then?” Jon replied, voice calm. Eyes blazing.  
  
“Aye”  
  
“What have you done...with your freedom, Sansa? What... requests have you... freely made?” He asked slowly and clearly.  
  
Sansa’s body was frozen... her face turned pallid as she realized what Jon was asking her. His eyes bore into hers, seeing into her soul., coaxing the truth from her lungs like a fish on a hook. Sansa was silent before she answered her breathing growing heavier, her voice a whisper.  
  
“What did Ser Jaime tell you?”  she breathed, her voice shaking, the color draining from her face.  
  
“Only of your...supplications...” Jon replied, his face patient. His eyes daring her to lie. Sansa took a moment to reply before letting out a feeble whisper  
  
“I could not remember... Jon... I only realized after the fact... there was wine... I was not myself... he only kissed me---  
  
“--Where did he kiss you?” Jon interrupted quietly.  
  
Sansa, still pale flushed at the inquiry, he eyes closing briefly in heavy discomfort. She could not answer outright.  
  
“Jon... this is what I tried to tell you last night. When the memory of it came upon me. I did not know... the wine... ” She said, her voice quickening, her eyes beginning to well with tears.  
  
“...the drink Jon... it meant nothing. Please try to understand...I tried to tell you... I was not.... myself. I wasn’t thinking...” She continued her monologue painfully, her pupils dilated, boring into Jon’s as if willing to lock him to her.  
  
But with every word Jon was drawing into himself, consumed with fatigue. He stared at her intently, the force of their vision growing steady with an ominous surge of electricity even as Jon’s body grew weaker and weaker.  The force between them pulled him to her with a heavy effort. Jon watched her lips for a moment before kissing her again, silencing her. Sansa kissed him back, her eyes still raised to his, filled with anxiety.  
  
Jon opened his eyes slowly, reconnecting the link between them. He pulled slightly away from her lips, silence permeating the air around them save for the quickness in Sansa’s breathing.  
  
“Guard.” Jon announced firmly in a voice a bit above a whisper. A voice that, though faint, still held the strong air of command.  
  
The door creaked open a sound of a heavy hobble made its way down the dungeon steps. The large and hunchbacked frame of the dungeon keep clipped and clopped beside Sansa.  
  
“The lady is ready to leave now.” Jon whispered. His eyes, dead, never breaking contact with hers.  
  
Sansa stopped breathing. Her breath caught right behind the lump in her throat. Her eyes bore into Jon’s as the dungeon keep shifted.  
  
“M’lday.” He rasped, holding a grubby hand out towards the door, motioning to lead her away.  
  
“Jon... please don’t do this. Please don’t do this now... Let me stay here with you. Let me get you out of here.” Sansa whispered urgently.  
  
He blinked once, slowly pulling back from her lips, swaying back into the cell before rolling his head back, closing his eyes. Sansa’s lip trembled her eyes brimming wildly.  
  
“Jon...” She whispered again, desperation filling her mouth to the brim as she clutched at the bars. Willing him to look at her.  
  
His eyes remained closed. His chest rising and falling slowly.  
  
The guard cleared his throat, holding his hand out more firmly. “M’lady” he rasped again. Sansa’s grip loosened on the bars unwillingly. She could barely feel the guards hand underneath her elbow leading her away. Walking up the steps she took one last look at Jon, her heart beating rapidly. He never looked up, head lying back lazily, his breathing even, face hidden away in the darkness of the cell.  
***************************  
An icy cold splash of water hit Jon around the face the next morning. He opened his eyes slowly, The dungeon keep blurrily coming into focus.  
  
“Wake up, pre’ty king” Snarled the ugly guard, baring his rotting teeth in a malevolent grin. “Yous got whats they call an audience wiv someone migh’ty important, hehhehe, seven help ya!” he sneered unlocking the cell.  
  
“Entah!” Shouted the guard towards the door. A moment later the heavy rotted wood burst open with a sharp twang. Six guards in black vests and leather trousers, spears in hand with black helmets hanging over their features save for their mouths marched in briskly. Jon’s grey eyes surveyed the strangers who were now entering his cell, uncuffing the links from his wrists, grabbing his arms and pushing him forward.  
  
Jon’s legs felt weak as he was being steered roughly by the dark outfit the just gained custody of him. Through heavy lidded eyes and the mechanic footwork of the guards climbing the ever winding steps of the keep, Jon could hear the faint sound of their voices. He realized they were not speaking in any language he’d ever heard before. It was a fluid but guttural sounding tongue.  
  
The dark outfitted strangers climbed higher and higher up the keep, strong arms braced Jon’s biceps as they turned him through two long corridors and into a large opening that grew more ornate with every step they took. The air was cleaner up here, more voices could be heard, Jon could see in between long fatigued blinks there were more men like his escorts posted outside a very large and elaborate door.  
  
The guards raised their spears hitting them across their breast plates in salute. The unsullied in front of the bronze doors mimicked the address then moved aside, letting the huge door creak open as Jon’s escorts lead him into a cavernous room filled with people. Men and women dressed in intricate gowns and robes. Jon’s feet were being dragged over a polished floor of several different kinds of marble. He raised his head slightly taking in the high vaulted ceiling speckled with huge arches and columns. Right below these arches, more severe decoration graced the hall. Massive heads of what were undoubtedly dragon skulls lined the walls from largest to smallest. Jon,  grey eyes half lidded, stared up at the beautiful monstrosities, who, Jon could swear, were staring back at him through large and threatening empty sockets. Welcoming him, following him as if they’d known him all his life, all the way down the hall until he was shoved roughly down to his knees, cuffed with links, in front of a set of rough and wide set black steps.  
  
Jon’s head lagged a little, he winced as he shifted his body to a more tolerable position, his wound growing more and more tender underneath Sansa’s makeshift bandage, already soaked through. Opening his grey eyes, that were now sunken in dark circles, he squinted, looking up the black stone steps to a raised dais that housed the most uncomfortable and severe looking chair Jon had ever seen. Something was sitting inside the seat however. Jon’s vision was blurred from fatigue. Obstructed by the blinding morning light that seeped in from the large stained glassed windows behind the throne. He could not readily make the person in front of him.  
  
“ _ñuha dāria._..” _(my queen)_ Announced the unsullied guard to the right of Jon. He took off his helmet, revealing copper skin and a stern face. Kneeling, he continued..  
  
“ _Emi maghatan ao se buzdari. Se mēre pōnta brōzagon se Dārys hen Jelmor_.” ( _We have brought you the prisoner. The one they call the king in the north.)_  
  
There it was, that language Jon had never heard before, but for a language he’d never heard of, Jon felt oddly soothed by it’s syntax.    
_  
“Kirimvose, Torgo Nudho_.” _(thank you, Grey Worm)_ said a soft but autocratic voice.  
  
He raised his eyes up to follow the sound of the odd language, blinking his eye twice more, his blurry vision cleared. Inside the lethal looking throne sat a very beautiful woman. Next to her was another beautiful girl, with a peaceful face and the same copper skin as the unsullied soldier next to Jon. The woman in the throne stared down proudly at him beneath eyes the color of lavender. Dawning a pale blue dress that wrapped up her neck, Jon was slightly taken aback by her appearance, he had never before seen skin as translucent as hers nor hair the color of silver. Atop her argent hair sat a simple gold crown that was decorated with vine and the imprint of a three headed dragon.  
  
The beautiful woman leaned forward slightly observing Jon with curiosity. Her eyes lingered on his naked muscled torso for a moment before lifting back to his face.  
  
“What is your name, King... of the North?” She asked imperiously  
  
Jon stared lazily up at her through tired eyes, then made to move, rising heavily to to his feet. The unsullied shifted quickly, aiming their spears at his neck.  
  
“Jon Snow.” He said softly, unconcerned with the spears pressing at his throat.  
  
“Snow... I’ve heard of this surname...” She said slowly. At that moment the beautiful girl to the Queen’s left leaned in and whispered covertly in the her ear. Daenerys nodded slightly, looking back at Jon.  
  
“You are a bastard then, are you not?” Daenerys asked, unabashed.  
  
“Aye.” Jon said simply.  
  
Daenerys eyes furrowed for a moment then smoothed again so quickly it was almost impossible to catch.  
  
“And how is it a bastard has become a King?” She inquired.  
  
“The north is... a very different place. We are... democratic. I suppose.” Jon said lazily.  
  
“Democratic you say? Your current station as king was decided upon a vote?”  
  
“That is the definition of democracy, your grace.” Jon said smartly  
  
Daenerys narrowed her eyes, smiling slightly at Jon’s cheek.  
  
The spears pressed a little harder at Jon’s throat  
  
_“Urnēbagon aōha ēngos!” (Watch your tongue!)_ growled an unsullied to Jon’s left.  
  
Daenerys raised a translucent hand up lightly, calling her guard off Jon. Pursing her lips she spoke again  
  
“You are accused of murder, King Snow... and trespassing” She said shortly. “  
  
“I’m on trial then?” Jon asked softly.  
  
“Naturally. Do you think it kingly, to arrive in another monarch’s empire and spill blood? I do recall sending an emissary to your lands to deliver my message of peace between our two regions, yet you’ve come here...and taken the life of more than a dozen of the Queensguard. It could be assumed as an act of war. How do you plead?”  
  
Jon tilted his head, staring up at  the queen with intense and sunken eyes.  
  
“Tis no act of war, Majesty. Something precious was stolen from me and my Kingdom. I simply came to reclaim it.” Jon replied calmly.  
  
Daenerys’ mouth crept upward again in the same slight smile, Looking to the crowd behind Jon quickly then back at him again.  
  
“Are you sure it was stolen?” She asked slyly, an eyebrow arched.  
  
Jon paused for a moment, his face blank, eyes intense.  
  
“Yes. I had no choice.” he replied stoicly.  
  
“And your victims... Why? Were the men you slaughtered the thieves that stole this precious thing from your kingdom, Lord Snow?”  
  
Jon shrugged slightly, as much as his wound would allow.  
  
“There were in my way.”  
  
Daenerys raised her eyebrows, a ripple of whispers seeped through the crowd, _“murderer”,_ they hissed.  
  
“You would dismiss and insult the severity of the situation with such a cavalier response, King Snow?” replied Daenerys, frowning, her eyes brows raised a bit higher.  
  
“Tis no insult to say dead men... are dead.” replied Jon indifferently, his head still tilted, grey eyes boring up at the throne.  
  
Daenerys regarded Jon for a moment, whispers echoing through the hall like white noise. The beautiful girl to the queen’s right leaned in again whispering something else in her ear.  
  
_“Kirimvose, Missandei.” (Thank you, Missandei)_ said the queen quietly.  
  
“Right. The trial shall call up a witness. _Dovaogēry! (unsullied!)”  
_  
The soldiers at the end of the hall shifted sharply. Together, they pulled open the heavy bronze doors letting a small figure hobble through it.  
  
An old man, around the years of seventy clopped through the marble hall. He wore a soiled tunic, earth splattered here and there on the front and on the back. His trousers were leather and soiled as well, from his feet to his knees he was wearing a heavy pair of boots with copper buckles.  
  
the crowd around him silent save for scattered whispers that flurried through the hoard. Slowly, he walked up towards the side dias adjacent to the Iron Throne.  
  
All eyes followed him including the queen’s, when he’d finally stood comfortably in his booth Daenerys spoke  
  
“State your name?”  
  
“I am Arwood Waters, your majesty.” The old man wheezed  
  
“And what is your occupation?”  
  
“I am Hostler, your grace. I attend the horses in some of the stables around the city.”  
  
“Very good. And do you swear by all the gods that your testimony will be true and honest?”  
  
“I swear it.”  
  
“Do you know this man?”  
  
“No M’lady”  
  
“This man stands accused of trespassing and more egregiously murder. What do you know of this?”  
  
The stablekeep shifted his eyes towards Jon quickly before clearing his throat  
  
“Well your highness, I know naught of trespassing… in detail, only of what I saw a few nights ago…” He started timidly.  
  
“Which was?” Daenerys urged, her eyebrow arched.  
  
“Well… it was dark… a beautiful night… I was bringing in the last of the stallions from my master’s hunt when I made to walk out of the stables. The streets are always alive in the night, but as I made to lock up I heard a thundering of hooves so loud and coming so quick I could not ignore it.”  
  
“Go on…” she said  
  
“I followed the sound, It was easier than trying to squint in the night to see… I am an old man, and my sight’s not what is was before. But when I did see, my sight cleared to a beautiful black Destrier rushing up the street. So quickly… sped past me like a demon, it did. There was a rider on it’s back, a cloaked figure… reigned the horse in the minute a banner of knights approached hollering at him to stop.”  
  
“Continue…”  
  
“He did what he was told… not immediately… the knights asked him to state his name but I never heard him utter a single word. He dismounted the steed and walked up to the men… straight backed… seemed sure of himself he did. The knights asked his name again or something to that effect and forgive me, your grace, but I couldn’t quite hear... All’s I can tell is the cloaked man had finally said something ‘cause it seemed to confuse the knight at the front who I can only assume was the captain. It happened quickly after that, I knows it’s him I saw… when he pulled back his hood it was that thick black hair... all curly like… that I saw. He was standing quite close to the captain of the guard... must’ve scared him or something because the next thing I know the knight unsheathed his sword and rested it on this man’s cheek.  
  
“And?” encouraged Daenerys  
  
“I’d never seen anything like it before, Majesty” He wheezed ringing his hands as if the very memory of it was bringing him anxiety.  
  
“… Mind you” he continued “This man hadn’t raised his blade first, and the man who did never got a chance to rue it because I saw a moment later a beautiful and ancient looking Valyrian steel sword cutting through the captain like a hot knife through butter. Never seen anything like it all my life… he was like a ghost, silent… deadly…took on six of them at once and in a matter of minutes, he’d finished them all off. One with his _bare_ hands, your grace… he’d raised one of the knights who’d lunged at him by the neck... with one hand… nothing like it in all my life… colossal strength, majesty. And that’s when I’d finally heard him speak… he roared something like, ‘Where is she!’… don’t suppose he’d gotten the answer he wanted from the man he had hung up by the throat because a second later he snaps that lads neck like a cedar twig.”  
  
A collective gasped echoed throughout the hall followed by more whispers.  
  
“Go on” Said the Queen.  
  
“The broken neck lad fell to the floor with the rest of his dead comrades. While the cloaked man, quite unbothered I might add, walked through the carnage and towards the steps at the end of Shadowblack Lane towards Aegon’s High Hill. The steps are high, your highness. This man must’ve realized that quickly… seemed he resolved to move by foot because he tied up his horse with a pat on its great neck and ran with great speed up the steep flight. Like he hadn’t just demolished six fully grown men a moment before. I’d realized I was paralyzed with shock for at least an hour once he’d gone... it was only the heavy huffing of the horse that made me come to. The great beast was left alone… and ‘tis my trade, you see, majesty. I simply didn’t have it in me to leave the creature alone. I’m afraid to admit that I was not sure what to do about the bodies that lay before me” He said a bit shamefully, his eyes downcast. “But I walked up to the Destrier...” He pressed on  
“Intimidating thing it was, looked at me with grey eyes like it was staring through my soul. It figured in the end it could trust me… I suppose…  made no fuss about drinking some water from my pouch. Been watching over it since… Misses its master though...doesn’t make much noise but a well-seasoned Hostler can always tell when a horse is becoming impatient.” The stablekeep finished.  
  
The crowd was alive with whispers. The buzzing was so potent Torgo Nudho slammed his spear down to the marble once to call for silence.  
  
“Is that all?”  
  
“That’s the best I can recall, majesty.” he said honestly.  
  
“That will be all then, thank you.” Daenerys replied.  
  
She then shifted her gaze to Jon, who stood, with his eyes looking up to the gargantuan vaulted ceilings and columns, vision fixed on the great skulls of the dragons who stared back down at him.  
  
“King Snow…” Daenerys started sternly “have you anything to say in your defense against this man’s testimony?”  
  
Jon looked down from his momentary reveries and turned his head slowly to the old stable keep whose breath caught in his throat at Jon’s gaze, watery and cataract–filled eyes wide with trepidation.  
  
“Thank you, for minding my steed, Ser Waters.” Said Jon softly.  
  
The Hostler shook for a moment then nodded his head stiffly, not quite sure how to react to Jon’s address.  
  
“Anything to say for yourself, King Snow.” Repeated the queen again, more firmly.  
  
Jon switched his gaze to Daenerys, locking his sunken grey orbs to her burning lavender.  
  
“As I’ve said, they were in my way.” He repeated.  
  
Daenerys looked at Jon severely. Her face slightly taken aback by his indifference. Bleeding and clearly tired, he stood proud-postured nevertheless. He was ruthless, she could tell, but it was cloaked quite masterfully under a veil of pacificity. She was fascinated against her will. From the description of events the Hostler gave, to Jon’s etiquette with a common man who had just testified against him. Never had Daenerys encountered such an individual. He reminded her of someone... someone she’d known... someone she’d heard of... but she couldn’t quite recollect who...  
  
Regathering the moment at hand, she sat more upright in the throne.  
  
“I”m not quite sure what to make of this... situation, King Snow. You clearly have no reservations or contestation towards the testimony. And have given a free admonition to your crimes... with the small defense of recovering that which you say was stolen from you and your kingdom... That which you say is yours...”  
  
Jon’s eyes bore into the queen’s. His face blank, his response was silence. His grey eyes communicating on his behalf.  
  
“Indeed...” She said, pursing her lips again. “Very well then... I will take a page from this northern book of yours... You are not familiar with the south nor our customs I presume... so I will do things the _democratic_ way and put this to a vote, shall I?” She quipped with a slight smile and an arch of her brow. lifting her eyes from Jon to the throng behind him.  
  
“People of Kings landing!” She cried “What say you? What shall be this man’s fate?”  
  
Instantaneously, a roar surfaced from the hoard. All manner of things were being shouted through the great hall but one thing rang out more clear than any other cry.  
  
_“Trial by combat!”  
  
“Trial by combat!!”  
_  
Before anyone knew it, the muddled and distorted cries from the multitude became fused. Suddenly _“trial by combat”_ became the collective chant on everyone’s lips.  
  
“Very well!” cried Daenerys over the roars from the crowd, bringing them to silence.  
  
“King Snow... it’s seems the decision is unanimous. Trial by combat shall be your lot. Will you elect a champion for yourself?” She asked looking down at Jon.  
  
Jon stared back at her, unfazed by the cries. with a slight tilt of his head he addressed the dragon queen.  
  
“I’ll be my own champion.” He replied quietly.  
  
Daenerys raised her head, regarding Jon with slight skepticism. Her eyes flashed down to his bleeding wound soaking through Sansa’s makeshift bandage. She looked back to Jon’s face. His expression, though fatigued, was resolute.  
  
“Agreed, then. None of the victims are alive to fight against you, however, King Snow. Who shall be this man’s opponent?” She announced.  
  
Silence. The crowd, who were so vocal a moment before stood quiet at the Queens behest.  
  
“Will no one fight this man?” Cried Daenerys again.  
  
Hush.  
  
The crowd, either cowardly innately or intimidated by Arwood Waters’ recollection of Jon’s capabilities, volunteered nothing.  
  
“I volunteer.” Came a voice from the rear of the Great Hall. The crowd shifted, then split, making a path for the individual who had just spoken.  
  
Booted feet clipped audibly against the marble of the floors followed by a heavy gold breast plate emblazoned with image a roaring Lion. Jaime Lannister made his way up to the dais looking grim.  
  
“Ser Jaime” Said Daenerys “Are you certain?”” She inquired.  
  
Jaime stopped a foot from the rough black stone of the steps leading to the Iron Throne. Kneeling quickly in salute, he stood a second later, looking up at the queen.  
  
“They were my men. This quarrel is between myself and the King in the North.” he said, his face grim, devoid of trifle or uncertainty. Daenerys observed him for a moment before tilting her head in agreement.  
  
“As you wish.” She breathed  
  
“There will be a trial, by combat. Ser Jaime has volunteered as champion for the deceased against the accused, King Jon Snow.”  
******************************************  
The next afternoon, it seemed as if the whole city was lining up in a cue, seeping in like a flood to gather in the amphitheater that looked over Blackwater for the trial.  
  
Sansa had been locked away in her quarters. Looking down from her balcony into the city. A company of guards posted at her door to keep her from the events of the day, ordered by Jaime himself. She was not told what was to occur. But beside herself with fear, anguish and guilt, pounding at her chamber door screaming for exit, she fell silent. Biting back her agony to strain her ears against the door.  
  
The men in the city gossiped like women.  
  
_‘I heard that king in the north, the one who killed Captain Danos it set for trial by combat this afternoon’  
  
‘Against who?’  
  
‘Ser Jaime Lannister volunteered’  
  
‘Should be quite a fight, I heard he took out Captain Danos’ entire banner in less than five minutes.’  
  
‘Nah what I heard, more like fifteen, they gave him a bit of a fight. No chance they wouldn’t’  
  
‘Well they’re all dead now... can’t help but feel a slight worried for Ser Jaime.’  
  
‘I wouldn’t worry ‘bout Ser Jaime much, I heard this King’s weak and wounded. Stood in front of the queen herself---pale, buckets underneath his eyes, large as saucers they were. Shirtless with a wound deep and bleedin’ in his gut. Soaked right through the bandage wrapped around it. If Lannister doesn’t kill him, he’ll keel over from that cut soon after.’_  
  
Sansa’s heart stopped.  
  
When did it come to this?  
  
She’d screamed for her release again and again but to no avail, the guards would not budge, nor disobey a direct order. The door remained firmly latched.  
  
Sansa could not handle a moment more of this. in her desperation, she searched around the room, looking for something, anything that could help her escape.  
  
Her eyes fell on the sheet’s of her bed. Her large monarch sized bed. The sheet’s still bloodstained from her tryst with Jon lay in large slept-in bundles. before the thought escaped her sansa looked quickly back at the balcony.  
  
This could work.  
  
What choice did she have?  
  
She ran towards the bed quickly, yanking the multiple layers of sheets from the grip of the mattress. A few moments later one sheet became two, then two became three, knotted and pulled tightly together in a makeshift rope. She was beginning tie the fifth sheet to the end of her creation When a booming began to pound at her door.  
  
Sansa froze. Were her efforts that audible? She grabbed a knife from the side table she’d used to cut fruit and slid it underneath her gown. If the guards were attempting to enter to stop her, she would have to do what she must. Quickly wound them then make her way down to the arena.  
  
The booming continued. Sansa braced herself, her chest pounding.  
  
The door burst open, six dark hooded figures traipsed into the chamber, swords unsheathed and bloody.  
  
The two heading the pack pulled their hoods back, revealing neck length brown hair and a shadow of a beard,the other, a familiar thick red mane.  
  
Edd Tollett and Tormund bowed.  
  
“Lady Sansa.” They said gruffly.  
  
Sansa’s eyes widened, peering quickly behind Edd and Tormund to the other hooded figures, They each pulled back their hoods, mimicking the Lord Commander of the nights watch and the Wildling leader.  
  
“How--” Sansa began mouth agape.  
  
“He may be King in the North, but he was our Lord Commander first, we’d follow him anywhere, M’lady” Said Edd before she had a chance to inquire further.  
  
“Are you ready?” Tormund asked holding a hand out towards her.  
  
Without another word Sansa took his in hand. He and the rest of the men led her out of the chamber stepping over the bodies of the gossiping guards.  
*************************************  
It was a circus, the mass of people. A mob. Gathered about as if they were watching a play put on display as opposed to two men, fighting to the death.  
  
Perhaps it was all the same to them.  
  
“In the sight of gods and men we gather to ascertain the guilt or innocence of this man, King Jon Snow of the Northern Kingdom of Winterfell. May the mother grant him mercy. May the father give him such justice as he deserves and may the warrior guide the hand of the one and true champion!” bellowed the herald  
  
He turned towards the Queen and bowed. Daenerys lead the crowd in applause for the Maester, she was sat in a raised box above the arena. Sitting upon an Ivory seat that matched her Ivory gown, Missandei to her left in a gown of mint green.  
  
Jon and Jaime stood on opposite ends of the arena. The afternoon sun burning the stone and sand on the floors between them.The Kingslayer wore his gold armor, sword gleaming at his side. Jon was escorted to the middle of the arena by a banner of unsullied  A fresh bandage wrapped his torso, but it had already begun to soak through. On Jon’s hip was Longclaw, returned to him for the battle. His dark curls lay at his neck, his grey eyes burning with fatigue, circles underneath them growing more and more sunken.   
  
The Unsullied released their hold, leaving Jon in the middle of the arena.  Jaime walked slowly towards the center of the amphitheater, halting a few moments later in front of Jon. Their eyes locked on each other, speaking between them the words they were not saying. Jon’s grey eyes switched from fatigued to a squall in a matter of seconds. He unsheathed Longclaw, dropping the scabbard to the ground, Jaime unsheathed his sword as well. They walked a circle around the arena slowly, eyes on one another, two Lions preparing to pounce. They stopped standing across from eachother at opposite ends.  
  
Daenerys stood, the whole crowd falling silent. She raised her arms, extended outward from her box for the circus to see, and brought them together swiftly with a  
  
_‘CLAP’  
_  
Summoning the fight to begin.  
  
It happened instantaneously. The crowd that was as silent as death a second before rose to a deafening crescendo. Jaime and Jon took their cue, skating towards eachother sending blows up.  
  
Jon’s sword came down on Jaime with a clash, Jaime returned in with a push, mirroring with a jab. Jon dodged, ducking slightly, sending another throw towards Jaime legs. Jaime blocked his sword clashing against Longclaw with another spark. Jon recovered lifting up, throwing Longclaw up near the Kingslayers chest then again towards his head at lightning speed swinging his sword around three times with such speed the force against the wind was audible. Jaime threw his weight back thrice, sliding back away from Jon’s fury. He charged at Jon, sending a jab through near to his wound, Jon spun hitting Jaime in his rib with the blunt side of his weapon then again and again on each side.  
  
_“Ahhh_ ” Jaime exclaimed taking the brunt of each blow, the hits ringing out against his golden armor. He recovered, shoving his sword down almost disarming Jon as the weapons locked against the other, keeping them at a stand still, their grunts echoing through the amphitheater.  
  
Jon thrusted himself backwards then ran with a charge at the Kingslayer, lifting himself of the ground and upwards, sending a blow near the crook of Jaime’s neck. The Kingslayer dodged again barely avoiding the lethal move. Jon skidded then spun jogging again towards his opponent sending another throw towards Jaime’s head. Jaime’s sword came up and parried the hit. And again  
  
and again.  
  
and again.   
  
They were moving with great speed. Jaime blocking relentlessly, Jon attacking mercilessly. He wanted to kill.  
  
Rip.  
  
Slay.  
  
Jon’s tired eyes were filled with murder. The only true murder he’d really wanted to commit. lunging again at Jaime he caught his blade near the crook of his arm cutting through the golden armor slightly. Jaime sent out a cry before catching the sword and thrusting it loose from Jon’s grip. A trickle of blood staining the marble and sand. Jon, quickly ducked at a throw sent up, shooting upwards quickly, sending a sharp punch across the Kingslayers face. Though Jon was weak, the blow was concussious. Jaime saw white. Blinded slightly as Jon raised another hit towards the left, then to the right again, throttling the Kingslayer jarring his senses.  
  
The crowd roared. This is what they came for. A true and honest fight. A blood bath.  
  
Daenerys watched intently. Her eyes dead center on the middle of the Arena. Not noticing the individual hobbling up the back steps of the box near her.  
  
“My Queen” announced the voice of Tyrion Lannister.  
  
Daenerys looked quickly to her right.  
  
“The hand has returned.” She said with a smile. “What’s taken you, Lord Tyrion?” She inquired as he approached the seat, looking towards the arena  
  
“Well I took a few stops on the road back from the north, your grace. Long journey. I see things have been well occupied in my absence though...” He replied looking perplexed at the situation beneath them. “What is all this?” He asked motioning towards the arena.  
  
“This King...” She began, her eyes back on the fight “This very same I had you send regards to as my peace envoy, has arrived here not a week ago. He’s being tried for murder. His defense was that something was taken from his kingdom. Something precious...and in his endeavors to recover said thing, he’s taken the lives of over a dozen of the Queensguard in the process. What ‘all this’ is, is his justice.”  
  
“And my brother as his opponent?” Tyrion pressed looking taken aback at the egregiousness of the events that had taken pace in his short absence.  
  
“Well...” started Daenerys lazily. “The men who were slaughtered were directly under the command of Ser Jaime. He presumed it best he act as the deceased’s champion.”   
  
“But majesty, a trial by combat?” urged Tyrion who had been under similar circumstances before in his life. Looking surprised at the Queen  
  
“It was not my choice, Lord Tyrion. I put it to a vote. Kings landing decided this mans fate.” She said simply. She reached her hand out and gave two taps on the chair beside her, motioning for Tyrion to have a seat.  
  
Tyrion, still surprised, took his seat slowly. An eyebrow arched, he turned his attentions back down to the battle.  
  
Jaime raised a hand to his eyes rubbing them quickly to clear his vision. Opening his green orbs to another blow Jon sent towards his face, he ducked sharply, Jon recovered from his attempt rolling quickly to his left snatching up the disarmed Longclaw. wasting no time, he darted forward catching Jaime with another blow. Jaime parried sending a thrust towards Jon’s back. Jon blocked, aiming a flurry of slices towards the chest, the neck, and the head. Jaime halted each with some difficulty. Returning the same mirror of attacks Jon’s way.  
  
He was amazed at Jon’s stamina. Clearly weakened, he had not expected Jon to come at him with such force. He was loosing his breath, his focus was forced to be above par, Jon was looking to kill his silent rage his fuel. His hatred his energy. Taking a closer looking at Jon while he blocked another lethal blow near the artery at his ribs, he could see him lagging a little whenever a throw forced the use of his abdominals. Jon had been attacking from his upper body, muscled arms nearly unstoppable from years of sword play and battle. With this knowledge, Jaime throw another jab towards Jon’s stomach, slicing right above the wound he’d inflicted a few nights before.  
  
Jon recoiled slightly with a grimace clutching at his wound, his hand seeping with a rapid flow of blood.  
  
The crowd roared.  
  
Covering his wound with his right, he used his left to send another swing at Jaime’s neck. The again and again. Swiftly, the steel whipping in the wind like a hot knife. Jon spun again and charged with a roar shooting up and laying a heavy blow above Jaime’s head. Jaime parried instantly, his teeth barred at the weight of the attack, bracing against Jon who would not let the weight of his attack go, struggling against each other they pushed at the same time. Each sending the other reeling back.  
  
Jon skidded against the sand, coming to in a crouched position. His breathing was heavy. His wound stung with the burning of wildfire. His eyes were desperately blinking back fatigue. Every muscle in his body aching. Screaming. Jaime charged at him while he was gathering his conciousness, sending a elbow up against his chin.   
  
Jon fell back.  
  
The crowd gasped.  
  
Jon’s eyes became unfocused. White dots forming over his vision. Jaime sent a blow down. It cut Jon on his shoulder, slicing a cut all the way down to the bone. Jon winced. He could not scream. Fatigue caving over his being. Again Jaime assaulted and Jon, with all the strength he had raised his arm and blocked it, on his knees. Sending Jaime reeling backwards.  
  
The roaring of the crowd began to crescendo again. They could smell death. It was near.   
  
The wind had picked up, sending sand billowing across the amphitheater. Jon closed his eyes against the breeze, his breathing slow, ragged. A feeling of peace began to overtake as him his body began to give out. Wind beat and billowed about his hair. He breathed in...  
  
Lavender.  
  
Lemon.  
  
A flash of red locks glazed over his vision. Burning blue eyes looked back at him between the shards of Sand.  
  
_‘Jon...’_  
  
_‘Jon...’_  
  
_‘I love you..’_  
  
A smile crept up against Jon lips.. His hair laying lank around is face..  
  
“Sansa....” he crooned  
  
Jaime began to walk slowly towards Jon. His sword glinting against the sunlight. His face peering and fading in and out through the  sandstorm. Inching closer and closer to Jon...  
  
The crowds volume was mounting. The arena deafening. The mobs jeers rising like heat.  
  
_“Finish him!”_ They screamed.  
  
“My Queen I _must_ insist. Is there no other alternative?” Tyrion exclaimed looking down at the arena with alarm. Daenerys said nothing. Looking towards the crowd with a frown, watching the fight intently with furrowed brows.  
  
“JON!” screamed a voice between the crowd. Sansa and the northmen were throttling through the heckling mob, struggling to reach Jon.  Tormund and The Nights Watchmen were pummeling through the mass with punches, clearing a way for themselves and for Sansa.  
  
Jaime came into full visibility through the sand, inching slowly towards Jon, who peeked out through his curls for a moment seeing nothing but auburn, smelling nothing but lavender.  
  
His head rolled to the his front as Jaime raised his sword...  
  
The crowds roars were thunderous...  
  
Cut through by an equally ear-splitting shriek.  
  
The shriek pierced the air again, silencing the crowd. They looked up and around confusion littering their faces, replaced by fear when the shrieking crept nearer. Growing louder and louder and louder... accompanied by heavy leather beating.  
  
SHRIEEEKKKKKKK  
  
A moment later a shadow sped across the arena. Circling high above them looming over the amphitheater. Casting a shade so great over the hoard they were eclipsed.  
  
Massive bronze and jade wings beat into the Arena. Shaking the earth as gargantuan scaled legs touched down onto the stone next to Jon with a quake that shook the amphitheater. Great polished bronze slits stared around the mass.  
  
Missandei looked towards the queen.  
  
Daenerys eyes widened.  
  
Tyrion’s jaw dropped.  
  
Sansa swallowed hard.  
  
The Northmen halted their punches.  
  
The Kingslayer began to step back further and further. Jaime’s jaw clenched with fear as the dragon stared back at him, covering the unconscious and kneeling Jon with a green scaled wing.   
  
Great obsidian fangs bared open, a deep rumbling began to boil amid the beast’s long reptilian neck. It reared it’s head back... and with another shriek, let loose a powerful jet of fire in a line across the sand.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!!!
> 
> I apologize for the longest gap ever in updates. The last three weeks have been rather Lemony Snicket-esque. So thanks again for all the positivity :)
> 
> Okay, to the matter at hand: Jon's having to suffer the consequences of his bloodlust, lol. Something in the Southron air just makes him a little cray ;). He's now aware of what Sansa and Jaime have done. No bueno. Will Sansa and him have the time to make amends? Will the pissed off Jaime allow it? Speaking of pissed, Daenerys has made her grand entrance; and she seems amused and intrigued by Jon... 
> 
> How much more intrigued will she get now that one of her babies has interrupted a nearly successful trial in solidarity to King Snow?
> 
> We'll see! Updates coming soon! (I promise, lol) Hope you all enjoy(ed) ^_^.


	14. Madness.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa are desperately in love but Jon can’t shake the guilt he feels of their blood ties. Their happiness is road blocked by Jon’s stark sense of morality as well as the voices in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The trial in Kings landing is under fire. To the shock and dismay of many in the capital, including the Queen herself. A reckoning has presented itself, is this man, saved by her dragon a friend, or foe?

The jet of fire blew with a heat that rivaled the sun. Screams could be heard amidst the roar of the flames. When the jet faded, hot dust swirled in a tornado. Rhaegal drew his head back again, letting another jet of fire loose from his throat, scorching the ground, leaving the earth singed in a trail of molten sand and stone. When the fire cleared and the dust receded, Jaime lay on the ground having traveled far enough away from the circle of flames the dragon spat from its fangs. He was nursing a badly burned left arm amid struggling to remove his armor that was now unbearably heated from the jet of fire. A banner of the Queensguard rushed to his side, trepidatious of getting too close, lest the dragon resolve to send another volley of flames their way.  
  
Rhaegal shrieked again, shaking his tremendous head. Bright bronze slits looked over the crowd menacingly, his bright jade wing flexed powerfully over Jon’s body which was hidden from view.  
  
“RHAEGAL!!!!” Screamed the Queen. Her eyes were ablaze with shock and confusion.  
  
Rhaegal turned his head towards his mother, copper eyes glinting maliciously. He shrieked once more, the power of his cry shaking the arena. Half the crowd covered their ears in agony, the decibels of the dragons roar too much for them to bear.  
  
“My Queen!” shouted Tyrion over the commotion.  
  
_“Dovaogēdy!!!!”_ Began Daenerys with a shrill in her voice. Her soldiers moved to march into the arena.  
  
“MY QUEEN, NO!!” Exclaimed Tyrion.   
  
“What do you mean, no?!” Shrilled Daenerys back, her lavender eyes were bright with shock and confusion still.  
  
“Your majesty, you and only you might be able to bring your great dragon to heel, but in his current state he WILL disembowel the whole of the legion you send out to him. We’ve witnessed this in Mereen, do you not recall?!” He reasoned.  
  
Daenerys’ jaw clenched, lifting herself up from her throne, she about faced down the steps, Tyrion, Missandei and a banner of unsullied following swiftly after her.   
  
The banner of Queensguard had attempted to rip off Jaime’s plated breast armor, however it was heated so severely that it was molded together. boiling at the touch. Jaime’s screams of agony were mixing with the shrieks of the dragon and cries of the crowd.  
  
A squadron of unsullied soldiers rushed into the arena ahead of the Queen creating an extended human shield. Two soldiers at the front of the lines circled Jaime, pulling out their weapons  sharply, slicing through Jaime’s army swiftly, letting it break loose. The skin over his chest was broiled boiling in a red hue as bright as the flames that burned it. He cried out through gritted teeth, his eyes wide as he braced the agonizing stings.  
  
“Take him” Khaleesi commanded to the Queensguard. As swiftly as the unsullied had broken open the Kingslayers armor, the knights lifted Jaime away. Daenerys marched forward towards the front of the banner of unsullied towards the dragon. Her eyes burning.  
  
She stood a few meters from a screeching Rhaegal. Raising her translucent hands slowly, calling his attention to her. The dragons menacing coppers slits looked down at his mother, his screeches paused, eyeing her as she traipsed towards him, his jade wing flexing powerfully over Jon’s covered body.  Save for the dragon’s rumbling huffs, Silence engulfed the arena. Holding their breath as they watched their queen march toward her beast.  
  
Daenerys looked up with a frown. Her heart beating quickly. She reached a hand out near the dragon’s wing, making to uncover what was beneath. Rhaegal snapped his head down with a flash, his reptilian slits blazing, his obsidian teeth barred in a growl at his mother.  
  
The crowd gasped in horror.  
  
Daenerys snatched her hand back, her eyes wide with shock. Never had Rhaegal been disobedient or threatening towards her in anyway. This kind of behavior was usually demonstrated by his older brother, Drogon, the most aggressive of the three. Yet here the beast stood, in clear defiance, ready to tear her arm off if she got too close to what was beneath the glimmering scaled wing.  
  
_“Lyks, Rhaīgal. ivestragī nyke emagon se zōbrie mēre._ _Issa va morghon. Istis sagon giēñagon.” (Peace, Rhaegal. Let me have the dark one. He is near death. He must be healed.)_ Said Daenerys.  
  
Rhaegal regarded her for a moment, his huffing causing the bronze and jade scales on his chest to ripple and gleam in the sunlight. He stared at his mother for what seemed an eternity. Daenerys did not flinch as she kept her arms raised, staring into the eyes of her dragon. Rhaegal let a low grumble roll through his considerable neck, flexing his head inwards, never taking his eyes off of his mother, he retracted his wing, revealing a bloody and kneeling Jon.  
  
Sansa jolted forward near the front of the stands, but Tormund and Edd held her back.  
  
“Wait, M’lady. ‘Tis not safe..” Gruffed Tormund as Sansa struggled “It will be quicker, this way.” he finished, with a cock of his head, pulling Sansa through the shocked crowd towards the back of the Arena while the Black brothers followed.  
  
Rhaegal tucked his enormous wing underneath Jon. His body rolled lengthwise, sprawled out against the bright green and gold scales. The dragon slowly spread his wing forwards, singed sand falling away into the hot air. Daenerys followed Jon’s body with her lavender eyes until Rhaegal’s wing lay eye-level. She looked over Jon’s body, eyes narrowed. He was breathing, but barely. Sucking in the ghost of breath ever other minute. Ragged and shallow.  
  
_“Dovaogēdy. Gūrogon zirȳla naejot ñuha tistālion. Jikagon syt iā Giēñatī.” (Unsullied. Take him to my quarters. Send for a Maester.)  
_  
Immediately, the Unsullied gingerly lifted Jon from Rhaegal’s wing, moving him to a stretcher and out of the amphitheater.  
  
Daenerys watched her guards carry Jon away. Her jaw still clenched, she turned towards Rhaegal, stroking his jade wing. Observing him with trepidation.  
  
What was the cause of such behavior? She thought.  
  
While deep in contemplation, Rhaegal’s eyes were following the stretcher. When it was out of sight through the gates that led underneath the grounds of the arena, he let out a low grumble. Of satisfaction perhaps, only a moment later the dragon reared it’s great green and gold neck, flexing his wings outward, lifting himself up and out of the amphitheater with one last shriek.  
  
Daenerys watched him go, jaw clenched in perlexed irritation. None of this made any sense. Turning determinedly towards the gates of the arena, she was topped suddenly by Tyrion  
  
“My queen, with your permission”    
  
Daenerys stopped to regard him, opening her mouth to talk.  
  
“I want you to take a good look at what has happened here today.” he continued not giving her a chance to speak. “What did you see?”  
  
“I saw madness, Lord Tyrion.” she said shortly   
  
“Yes... curious choice of words, majesty.” His eyes boring into hers. “Madness a common trait among _your ancestral line.”  
_  
“I take it you’re in no rush to join your sister in the afterlife my lord?” Daenerys said dangerously, her lavender eyes flashing.  
  
“Forgive me, your grace, I mean no disrespect however this is quite unusual. Madness.... quite the opportune word. A word tied to _your_ lineage. And now a stranger, from the north, a man you’ve never known personally but have only heard various and fantastic reports of-- this man you’ve _just now met_. In a rather jarring way mind you, has brought upon this madness” Tyrion exclaimed, waving his hand around the singed air and burnt sand.  
  
“My queen, I’ve met Jon snow personally, a few years ago no less. He began from humble beginnings. The offspring of a noble family, a name that forever was part of him but the cause of his misfortunes, forced into penury because no other life would suit, rising above every obstacle, acquiring wealth lands and armies,  _all three_ in a very short span of time. Does any of this sound familiar to you, your grace?”  
  
Daenerys heart started racing, color sing in her cheeks “What are you playing at?”  
  
“Highness..” Tyrion began his eyes wide. “I’ve observed this closely in the short time I was allowed.” He choked coughing at the ash in the air. “Jon Snow has and never will be a man to be trifled with. I’ve never seen someone, carry the burden of two names, bastard and Stark, take the former, mold it into armor and become King of the largest region on our continent... ON A VOTE, my queen. He commands the love of the people. Much like you did when you were making your way across the east, highness.  
  
“Your point, Lord Tyrion!” demanded Daenerys, her heart beating rapidly her translucent skin tinged in a glowing pink  
  
“My queen this is no coincidence!” He said onerously “Listen to me...   
I’ve heard things... for many years, the same story. The same _history..._ Robert Baratheon, the usurper spread it like wildlfire: Lyanna Stark... his betrothed, was kidnapped by your older brother--kidnapped and raped. Oh yes... such was the cause and catalyst of Roberts rebellion. All of Stormsend’s fury combined with the bitter cold wrath of the north...justified, naturally. How dare the noble Rhaegar, who’d been given everything his whole life as the heir to mad King Aerys’ throne, steal something that rightfully belong to another?... A likely tale... A tale of a _jealous_ and vainglorious man. But that was _not_ the narrative of the Prince of Dorne.” Tryion emphasized   
  
Daenerys’ breathing quickened. Her eyes widening  
  
“My liege, prince Oberyn Martell gave his life for _his_ truth acting as my champion in a very similar duel as this, he explained to me a very different history, Rhaegar _left_ his sister, Elia, to be with another woman. A woman who mysteriously died a few months after said ‘abduction’. Though we never knew the circumstanced of her death, quite curious that her brother, the great and honorable Eddark Stark mysteriously returns from the wars with a _child..._ with an unnamed mother at that. A bastard...”  
  
“What are you saying?” breathed Daenerys  
  
“My queen, do you not think it curious that when Jon Snow arrives in the south, your dragon, in the middle of his trial which should have ended in his death, somehow comes to his aid? Do you not think it curious that your dragon, named after your older brother _Rhaegar,_ is the one that rescued Jon here today? _My queen, this is no coincidence.”_ He beseeched.  
  
Daenerys’ heart was beating so rapidly her chest was heaving.   
  
“What... are you saying, lord Tyrion?” She whispered.  
  
“I have the distinct feeling you already know, majesty.”  
********************************  
Jon opened his eyes groggily, the room coming into focus. He blinked back his fatigue adjusting his eyes to the light. The ceilings were high and vaulted, to his right were large floor to ceiling windows, silk white curtains billowed in and out in the wind.  
  
He made to sit up but a tightness followed by a stinging stopped him. He looked down, fastened tightly around his torso was a pristine white linen cloth. He reached his hand over his abdomen, resting it above the bandage. A sharp pain in his shoulder came after, he winced moving his other hand above his arm, it rested on another ivory tourniquet wrapped tightly around his deltoid and tricep.  
  
“Careful now, King Snow...you’ll reopen those wounds.” Came an imperious voice.   
  
Jon’s grey eyes snapped around him, near his thigh, sat Daenerys, wearing a silver grey gown cut out at the sides, shoulders crisscrossed and braided at the nape of her neck. She was sitting cross-legged, her eyes looked down at Jon burning with a powerful curiosity.  
  
Jon watched her back,  His eyes forming into a bored glare.  
  
“You tried to kill me.” Jon said flatly, head laying comfortably on the pillows.  
  
“Only a little.” Quipped Daenerys.  
  
Jon snorted, in skepticism.  
  
“It seems I shan’t be able to finish the job, guilty or not, King Snow. My dragons simply must protest.” She continued, here tone suggested it was more a question than a statement.  
  
Jon closed his eyes, and shrugged.  
  
“Strange beasts have always taken to me.” He whispered nonchalantly.  
  
Daenerys was silent. Jon opened his eyes at her muteness, she was had moved from beside his thigh very quickly to beside his chest, kneeling over him, her eyes narrowed. Jon raised his brows slightly, a tad perplexed but altogether unfazed by her lack of regard to polite proximity.  
  
“Except my strange beasts do not take to anyone, King Snow. They are dragons, not your common hound.” She said sternly.  
  
Jon observed her  
  
“What would you like me to tell you?” he returned softly.  
  
“Who you are.” Daenerys answered  
  
“My name is Jon snow, as I’ve told you before, majesty.”  
  
“Are you sure that’s your name?”  
  
“I’ve been called others, none of which I presume are appropriate to utter in a Queen’s presence.” he quipped.  
  
“And you’re a bastard...” She asked.  
  
Jon turned to look at her, looking slightly annoyed.  
  
“Last I heard, there were rumors you’ve not spent a moment with your parents either.” Jon snarked  
  
“Yes.... rumors.... I’ve heard whispers about you.... and of your escapades here in the capital as well, Lord Snow...” Daenerys said her eyes narrowing.  
  
“Pray, you’ll tell me anyway?” Jon sighed  
  
“Indeed.” the queen continued. “Rumor has it the guards rushed in on quite the ghastly scene. Madness...” She paused “They called it...”  
  
“I’ve heard that term used often lately.” Jon said with a bored blink.  
  
“Some would refer to it as a mark of my lineage.” Daenerys replied.  
  
Jon turned his eyes slightly, regarding Daenerys looming above him.  
  
“I can’t imagine why.” he whispered sardonically.  
  
Daenerys craned closer to him “Except madness... they whispered it about you. A bastard. A stranger... who massacred a mob to get to what was taken from you, with the help of my dragon...Curious that they found you, covered in your crime, lifting yourself from a naked maid’s body?” Daenerys remarked.

  
Jon locked eyes with her, examining her face. She had figured something out... and was questioning him to piece together a definitive conclusion. Should he give her what she wanted? What was it?  
  
“They were in my way.” Jon repeated mechanically.   
  
The corners of Daenerys’ mouth were working their way upwards.   
  
Hook.  
  
“They said you were raping this woman...” Daenerys said with an arch of her brow.  
  
Jon’s grey eyes dialated. The corners of his mouth had worked their way up even quicker than hers, a ripple of dark laughter crept up his throat   
  
“This amuses you, King Snow?” Daenerys demanded, a scandalized air permeating her words.  
  
“I found my sister, she knew I’d seek her. I did to her and she did to me what’s been done between us many, many, _many_ times before, highness..." Jon whispered grey eyes boring into lavender. “If that’s rape.... I had a very willing victim.” He surrendered, crows feet etched at the corners of his eyes.

Daenerys’ eyes widened, her smile opening up in shock, taken aback but intrigued.   
  
“Something precious...Stolen from your kingdom...” she said slowly,   
  
“Yes..” Jon replied  
  
 “Your sister?”  
  
“....Yes.”  
  
Daenerys’ eyes widened, her face creeping closer to Jon’s   
  
“You _love_ her!” She exclaimed in a whisper. Realization dawning on her features.  
  
Jon’s eyes remained fixed on hers, lazy amusement etched on his face  
  
“Yes.” He said simply  
  
_‘He’s more blood of Valyria than I thought....’_ she mused her widened eyes taking his blasé countenance in.   
  
“Perhaps she does not love you the same, King Snow. if she wound up here living quite comfortably at the pleasure of a Lannister.” Daenerys challenged.  
  
“Sansa loves no one else. She is mine. I am hers.” he replied matter of factly “Her acquaintanceship with the Kingslayer was a consequence of... an engagement.” He finished slowly  
  
“Her engagement?”  
  
“....Mine.”  
  
Daenerys bit her lip, her brows furrowing  
  
“You’re to marry another?”  
  
“....yes.”  
  
“Pray tell, King Snow.” Daenerys demanded.  
  
Jon observed her once more. He sucked in an air of  patience and began his explanation, from the beginning. Daenerys listened intently. He had no idea why he was explaining all of this to her, it really was none of her concern. But the words slipped out of him like a boot on ice and he did not want to pretend anymore. A weight was beginning to lift itself from his chest with every word he said.   
  
“... and that was when your dragon, I assume, for I was not conscious when it happened, decided to come to my aid. ‘Tis no magic or mark of witchery, queen. It happened quite organically.” Jon finished. his eyes closing while Daenerys put together the last bits of her conclusion.  
  
“...I see... Organic you say?” She began  
  
Jon shrugged once more, eyes still shut against the comfort of the bedding.  
  
She inched closer to his face, her nose almost touching his. Jon opened his eyes slowly, his eyes locking on her lavender orbs piercing through his soul an inch above him.  
  
“Curious that you should choose the word ‘organic’, King of the North... the only correspondence my dragons have that fit that definition are with me.... a _Targaryen.”_ She whispered knowingly.  
  
Jon stared at her. His eyes furrowed slightly, unfazed by her propinquity.  
  
“Obviously, that might not case here.” He brusqued with a yawn.  
  
Daenerys grabbed Jon’s face in her small translucent hand, observing his beard, cheeks, brows, lips and eyes.   
  
“ _Obviously_ , you’re a bastard...” she whispered again, more to herself than him.  
  
Jon’s eyes closed, praying for patience. He’d never met a highborn individual with less decorum.  
  
“Is there a point you wish to make with that information?” Jon replied tersely.  
  
“Only a Targaryen can ride my dragons, King Snow. You know nothing of your lineage...  
  
“--My father was Eddard Stark, of the blood of the First Men, Warden of the north.” Jon whispered defensively  
  
“And your mother?”  
  
“....I do not know... I heard rumors that she was a tavern maid... but nothing is certain.”  
  
“Quite.”  
  
“Your point, Dragon queen.” Jon demanded.  His eyes locked to hers.  
  
Daenerys inched back from his face with a small grin. Jons chin still in her hand  
  
“You bear the traits of another line.... this dark hair is not of Valyria...”  
  
“--That’s because _I’m_ not of the blood of Valyria. I am a Stark--  
  
“But you’re not, actually, are you, King Snow? You’re a _bastard._ Have you ever wondered how?”  
  
“it’s quite simple, actually.” Jon said, not wishing to repeat a biological speech to her, his patience waning.  
  
“Apparently not. Quite complex, really... you do have the blood of the first men... but perhaps not from the individual you assume.”  
  
Jon grew silent. His brows furrowing.  
  
“You’ve never known your mother, never heard of her, you don’t know her name, what she looks like, nothing? You were born during the rebellion... Roberts rebellion... a rebellion that almost killed me.. and all the Targaryens on Roberts orders.... Do you not think he would seek out the rest of our cursed bloodline and finish us off.. if he could?”  
  
Jon, again, was silent.  
  
“Unless of course a man’s _honor,_ honor I see is hereditary...” She said, her grip tightening on Jon’s face “forced him to keep something or _someone_ safe from kings wrath... with a lie...”  
  
Jon’s heart began to beat quickly. Where was she going with this?  
  
“Perhaps the mother you never knew was the Stark in question that bequeathed you your features-- this honor. Lyanna Stark... lost to the rebellion... ‘ _stolen’_ they say by the noble Rhaegar Targaryen... Stolen and _raped_...” Dany paused, eyeing Jon sardonically with a knowing smile. “Not unlike the tale you’ve told me here today, except unlike Rhaegar, you were not raping your sister. You _love_ her.”  
  
“Yes.” Jon repeated simply. His eyes narrowing. “I’ve no mood for history lessons, highness.”  
  
Daenerys jolted forward, her grip on Jon’s face tightening, her eyes boring into his. “ _History_ is important, King Snow. Because _history_ tells us that only one of the blood of Valyria can _ride my dragons. Curious,_ that the dragon that you’ve become acquainted with is my middle born...” She trailed off.  
  
“Do you know my beasts name?” She asked with an arch of her brow.  
  
“Enlighten me.” Jon said impatiently  
  
“I named him, King Snow, after my brother, Prince Rhaegar.” She replied superiorly.  
  
Jon’s silence deafened the room. So this is  the conclusion she’d come to. What she’d been attempting to figure out with her interrogation. Jon’s heart was beating abnormally fast, he did not know why. This information could not be true. In no way. He was a Stark, if not by name, by everything he knew. He was of the North. Simple as.   
  
But that night, the dragon. How it had come to him freely, without beckon or call. How it understood him, effortlessly. The voices. The madness. The very fact that he was alive due to the beasts interference...  
  
Daenerys’ smiled widened as she observed Jons thought processes etching themselves out on his face.  
  
Jon eyes, glazed over with though, came back into focus on the queen.  
  
“What do you want?”  
  
“Many things. One of them is beginning to be your death... perhaps. You coud seek to claim my throne.”  
  
“Perhaps.” Jon replied wearily.  
  
“Do you mean to make war?”   
  
“Give me what I came for. If I do not have her, war will be against whoever is in my way.” Jon replied simply. His eyes deadlocked with the queens.   
  
He was vehement. Rigid. Daenerys kept her composure but inside her senses were reeling. She did not doubt for a second that he meant what he said.  
  
“Is that a threat?” The queen asked   
  
Jon closed his eyes “It’s a promise.” he said prompt and apathetically.  
  
Daenerys stared into Jon’s grey eyes for what seemed like an eternity. She did not blink. Nor did he. After another moment she took in a breath  
  
“Very well. It seems that I cannot rid myself of you or your life... not while my dragons continue to safeguard your existence. But be aware, King Snow, the moment that is no longer the case. Any threat perceived from you will be taken... as such.”  
  
Jon observed her once more. “And?” he replied, he had the distinct feeling she was not finished.  
  
“And... based on reports from very reliable sources, you are held in the highest of esteem. Some would swear by your moral caliber... whether you take my notions as truth is no matter. The events I’ve seen these past few days speak for themselves. You shall be my ally.” she declared.  
  
“Your.... ally...”Jon repeated  
  
“Yes. Quite the _organic_ solution” She said snidely. Pulling herself from her proximity to Jon, she stood.  
  
“And another piece of unsolicited advice... “She began solemnly. At that moment, she raised herself up to full height, no longer looking like a delicate and petite queen, but a formidable monarch.   
  
“Your sister... it was her choice to leave you. It was her choice to remain here. Who knows between the time of her departure and your arrival where her emotions lie.. Perhaps it would be wise to consider what she’d feel if she were returned to your custody, given the circumstances..”  
  
Jon raised his eyes to hers, his countenance returning to his signature brood.   
  
“Rest, Lord Snow. You’ll need strength for your wedding. You shall be escorted back to your territories within the night. I’m sure you’ll find your own home the greatest remedy to your condition. “ She said eyeing Jon’s wounds. “I’m not sure the south agrees with you.”  
************************************   
Dusk had fallen over the Red Keep. Jon opened his eyes to the silk curtains billowing in the sunset, several shadows blocked his view.  
  
“Take him” Announced the queens voice. Jon looked around to Daenerys standing at the foot of his bed. Several unsullied hands, lead by Torgo Nudho, lifted him from the bed to a stretcher. Jon looked around as he was carried up and out of the candlelit doorway, The beautiful maid Missandei watched him as he passed, nodding slightly. Towards the end of the hall stood the stout figure of Tyrion Lannister. As Jon approached him, Tyrion turned to face the stretcher. Raising a hand up he grasped Jon’s firmly in his. A golden hand pinned to his leather vest glinting brightly in the dimness of the hall. Jon eyed it, lifting himself painfully upright.  
  
“Are you the Queens reliable source then, Lord hand.” Jon whispered with a knowing smile.  
  
Tyrion returned it, his grasp on Jon’s hand growing a bit tighter.  
  
“A Lannister always repays his debts, King Snow.” said Tyrion earnestly.  
  
“As always, I shall miss you, Lannister.” Jon replied, his eyes still on the hand as he laid back on the stretcher.  
  
With that, Tyrion bowed as the Unsullied pushed forward, unlinking Jon’s hand from his.  
  
The Unsullied made their way down a multitude of steps, reaching the great doors of castle. Two guards at the front pushed open the doors, at the foot of the steps that let down into the great courtyard, stood the six hooded northmen with their horses. Each of them pulled their hoods back, bowing as the the Unsullied lowered Jon from the stretcher, helping him to his feet.   
  
Tormund stepped forward, grasping Jon on the shoulder, pulling him into an embrace.  
  
“Don’t do this to us again, King crow. I hate the heat.” He gruffed.  
  
Jon laughed in spite of the searing pain running through his torso. Tormund wrapped a cloak around Jon while Edd pulled a large black Destier up by it’s reigns.   
  
“Let’s go home.” Edd said helping Jon mount his steed.  
  
As Jon straddled himself as comfortably as he could on his horse, he paused, looking down at both Edd and Tormund.  
  
“Where is she?” he whispered.  
  
Both Tormund and Edd glanced at each other, exchanging uncomfortable looks.  
  
“She’s stayed behind, Jon... we saw her make her way to the western wing of the castle... near.. the Kingslayers quarters. After that we were gathered by the dragon queen at a moments notice. Said we were to be your royal escort back to the north.” breathed Edd  
  
Jon’s face melted into solemn reflection.  
  
She stayed behind. A violent twinge of pain that had nothing to do with his wound coursed through him. He grimaced, his face half hidden by his onyx locks. She would tend to his wounds then? Perhaps the dragon queen was right, perhaps Sansa had made a choice.  
  
Perhaps it wasn’t him.   
  
As for her emotions, Jon knew he was responsible for their instability. That he was the culprit behind her pain. And the anguish he was feeling now was his universal reciprocity, a mirror, of what she’d been feeling since the day he called their love a sin.   
  
_‘Jon’  
_  
The whispers echoed through his mind, her whispers and the ominous feeling he’d felt the morning he sensed her disconnect.  
  
He now understood why.   
  
Sliding back into cognizance he gathered his emotions. Settling back into broody composure.  
  
“Would...you have us collect her, Jon?” Gruffed Tormund, eyeing him uncertainly  
  
“No.” Jon answered after a long lull.  
  
Sansa was his peace, the only thing that could provide him blissful clarity as much visceral insanity. She was his. She was his happiness. The notion, however small that he was not hers left a weight so strong pressing against chest he felt the sting of his wounds again.  
  
“No... he repeated.  
  
He would leave her be. To attempt a happiness without him. He wanted to be selfish, to simply say ‘yes’, have her delivered to him with a snap of a finger. To call upon that dragon again and rip her from the city. It would be too easy. Too easy...  
  
But true to form, he chose the hard path, just like a Stark.   
  
“Let’s go..” he croaked. Wincing as he kicked his Destier into a trot.   
  
 His men mounted their horses, kicking their steeds forward after him.  
***************************************  
A few days had passed since Jon and the six northmen’s arrival back in Winterfell. In his absence, the household of the castle had paired with the household of Deepwood Motte. Preparing the northern capital for the wedding celebrations.  
  
That evening the mass had gathered in the great hall like that had during Solstice. It was just as crowded, men from House Mazin, Glover, Hornwood, Manderly, Mormont, Cerwyn, Reed and their cadet branches all graced the tables. The air was cheery for all except one.  
  
As the rest of the mass made merry, Jon sat regally at the top of the high table, wearing a dark tunic with the silver Stark sigil stitched on the chest. His dark curls lay full at his neck. He was leaning back on his chair his eyes on the crowd but not seeing them at all. Staring blankly into the swirl of colors beneath him.   
  
“Seven blessings to you, King Jon.” young bannermen announced, passing the front of the high table clanking flagons of mead.  
  
“Seven blessings to you, my liege” Pretty maids from House Mazin and Cerwyn echoed afterwards, flitting their lashes coyly,   
  
“Behavior fit for the walk of atonement” came a voice to Jon’s right. Arya sat back in her chair, her arms crossed, glaring a the girls who now flushed with giggles. Arya’s eyes followed them a few feet down the hall where they finally sat, still giggling with a smug looking Erena who was dressed in deep plum robes again. On her head she was wearing a rather ostentatious wreath of flowers. Her attempt to look delicate and poised was marred by the fact that the flowers clashed horribly with her hair and dress. Jon and Arya watched her as she gabbed with her handmaidens.  
  
“ _My lady, how fortunate, this engagement! The young King is so handsome. Are you elated for your wedding day?”_ one of them chimed.  
  
_“Yes, Olira, quite. I look forward to my life here in the capital. This castle needs a good woman’s touch.” Erena replied silkily.  
_  
The maidens giggled girlishly.  
  
_“Oh my lady, the Starks are a noble family, it must be such an honor for you to become part of their household, part of their family.”  
_  
_“Quite, Dasina, I’m gather I’ll be rather comfortable with the Starks. I plan on having the Lady Sansa as one of my bridesmaidens. It will suit her, a subsidiary place. Gods know the pitiful thing hasn’t made much of a bride considering her past.”_ She finished with an air of satisfied disdain.   
  
The girls cackled with delight at Erena’s insult.  
  
Arya sprang from her seat, attempting to jolt over Jon as the girls guffawed. Jon snatched the back of Arya’s gown and pulled her back slowly, his jaw clenched.  
  
Arya heaved. Plopping down to her seat fuming.  
  
“I take it you didn’t fix it then.” She seethed grudgefully.  
  
Jon was silent, pensive. The familiar stinging surged through his being. He swallowed hard, fighting against the lump in his throat.  
  
“I couldn’t.” He croaked defeatedly.  
  
Arya looked at him, sensing his tone. He was not looking at her, but reverted back to staring back at the crowd blindly. She softened, moving closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. Jon mussed up her hair, as he’d always done, kissing her forehead absently.   
  
The night raged on. Men and women became steadily drunker, lost in merriment and drink. Bran joined Arya’s attempt to comfort their brother as the rest of the men had passed by him offering half-hearted congratulations, gripping his shoulder in solidarity. Jon could not speak, the looming presence of his future hung in the air like an ominous shadow. The mass had begun the last dance of the night. It was beginning to get late, they’d all soon be heading to their quarters before long. He kept himself a healthy distance from his new potential bride and her family who were drunk with mirth.His hatred for them multiplied with every cackle and bellow. It was too much. Jon stood, lifting his cloak off of his chair and wrapping it around him.   
  
He could not stay. He could not bear another moment of gaiety and conviviality. Stepping away, he was barely noticed.  
  
Good.  
  
He preferred it that way. Let them revel in this mockery of a marriage. Let them send up drunken cheers and raise their glasses to fallacies and charades. He was happy to leave the hoard in their inebriated joviality.   
  
Pushing through the great doors of the castle, he stepped out into the brisk night air. the courtyard was silent, contrasting starkly to the boisterous noise of the hall. Jon walked through the courtyard silently, the sound of his boots crackling against the frozen dirt. His mind was blank, he could not see where he was going, with every step he was submerging deeper and deeper into his melancholia.

  
He walked through the gates of the courtyard and around and around for what seemed like hours. Coming to a stop as he pushed through the castle gates. He wanted the separation between him and Winterfell’s walls. The home that he had craved for years, the home he’d wanted to be lord of for longer than he could remember, now felt like a prison.  
  
He stared out into the distance,watching the night’s mist creep over the grass, forming a hazy layer above the ground and in the air.  
  
Jon breathed out, his breath parting from him like white wisps of smoke. He was shocked at how his thoughts could manifest so egregiously into physical pain. And he’d never felt a pain like it. He would take the knives of the night’s watch in his chest a thousand times over to rid himself of the agony he was feeling now.  
  
He closed his eyes... letting the darkness overcome his senses. Hoping slightly, that he could catch a glimpse of the fiery hair. A glimpse, of her crystal blue eyes...  
  
Lavender  
  
Lemon  
  
His reveries brought the scent, the closest thing tied to his memory. So strong, he cringed at the sweetness, pained and drunk from the aroma. His heart felt like it would cave into itself. The pressure and the pain becoming too excruciating to bear. Jon breathed in again, desperately trying to steady his breathing and maintain his sanity. It was getting too warm, even in the dead of a northern winter, the heat from Jon’s agony made him as feverish as the heat from his dragon’s flames. Shedding the hood of his cloak he opened his eyes again, breathing in and out, paralyzed in pain.  
  
He stared out into the dark wood that grew thick with Weirwood trees, the mist glowing in the moonlight, his eyes glazed over.  
  
In the distance, a figure was making it’s way towards him slowly. Jon could not make them out, the mist growing thick with midnight. Jon watched them move across the field and through the trees. The figure was not alone, he tilted his head and squinted slightly, trying to adjust his eyes to the view in front of him. The figure was leading a horse behind it, a horse whose white coat and mane blended seamlessly against the mist.  
  
As Jon squinted a bit harder, the figure continued to make it’s way towards the castle, their hood was pulled up. Blocking any sign of familiarity.  
  
Closer and closer and closer they got, Jon’s heart began to beat fast as the sound of their footsteps crisped and cracked against the cold northern earth. They were only a few feet from him now, the mist still thick, obscuring Jon’s vision.  
  
A few more steps and Jon could feel the vibrations of their proximity. With eyes focused on the field, he could hear the horse’s panting  
  
“Shhhhh” came a voice.  
  
A voice only too familiar.  
  
Jon’s heart began to beat faster and faster and faster. The feeling that it might cave in resurfaced.  
  
Through the mist, a glint of auburn locks came into view. Jon’s eyes came into focus on Sansa, who was pulling her stallion behind her. Her hair hanging loosely under her cloak. Her blue eyes locked on Jon’s grey.  
  
Jon’s breathing was heavy, he was not sure he was seeing what he was seeing.  
  
Was this real? Or had the drink and his grief and his melancholia all combined into a hallucinogenic cocktail that was causing his delusion. Was she a specter? Had she come back to him corporeal...  
  
Or a ghost?  
  
Jon stood, stark still, his body paralyzed. Sansa inched closer to him, her blue eyes tired, but pulling her hood back she looked beautiful nonetheless.  
  
She stood in front of Jon, a foot, then half, then an inch, looking into his face. They stood still, Jon eyes half lidded, looking down at her. She stared up at him, her brows furrowed at his demeanor, his melancholy.  
  
She dropped reigns of the horse, stepping another inch closer to Jon. Slowly she tilted her head up, resting her forehead against his. Jon closed his eyes, and breathed her in. Her scent was real, his chest began to pain him again, his eyes snapped shut against it. Sansa’s eyes remained open, watching Jon as he battled with the reality of her in front of him. She kissed his chin, then the bottom of his lip, over and over and over again. Jon tasted her,  
  
Lavender  
  
And lemon.  
  
She was real. This was real. He opened his eyes staring into hers with a mixture of disbelief and euphoria, he raised his hands to her hair, feeling the silkiness under his calloused fingers. Running his fingers through the fire red locks.  
  
“Jon...” she whispered, her eyes glazing over, lost in his scent as well.  
  
“Forgive me.” he whispered back, kissing her cheek.  
  
Sansa’s eyes welled.  
  
“Forgive me.” He whispered again, kissing her nose, her chin...  
  
“Forgive me.” Against her lips this time.  
  
“Shhhhhh” She whispered back against his, her eyes welling with tears.  
  
“Forgive me...”  
  
“Shhhhhh”  
  
“Forgive me...”  
  
Sansa gripped his face in her hands, staring into his face, she pressed her lips to his, her eyes snapping shut.  
  
“Forgive me.” Jon whispered again between kisses. His body seizing up in grief and happiness.  
  
“Forgive me.” He pleaded. Becoming drunk off the taste of her. Sansa deepened the kiss, silencing him. Jon lifted her, wrapping his arms underneath hers carrying her past the open gate. Sansa hugged him with all the strength she had. Her legs wrapped around his waist.  
  
“Never do this to me again.” She crooned running her hands through his hair. Kissing his lips again.  
  
Jon slipped past her lips and latched to her neck. Closing his eyes against the silence of the courtyard, tamed by the sound of her breaths hitching as he laid numerous love bites on her neck. Sansa shed her cloak, biting her lip, aroused by the feel of the cool of Jon’s lips on her skin.  
  
“Don’t do this to me again..” She pleaded, her breaths becoming more ragged as Jon’s strong hands gripped he back. She loosened his cloak, letting it fall the the dirt.  
  
Pulling his face to hers she kissed him once more, letting her tongue dip into his mouth, then tracing it against his full lips. Jon inched towards the ground, laying on his cloak over the dirt, his hunger for her growing with every dip of her tongue. Sansa deepened this kiss, the warmth in her face and chest matching the warmth growing between her legs.  
  
She wasted not time. Reaching her fingers underneath her dress she fumbled for the lacing of Jon’s trousers, letting him spring loose. Breaking the kiss she licked her finger tips, reaching for Jon’s length and stroking it thrice before Jon gripped him member, inserting himself into her. Sansa groaned. Her eyes brimming with tears of pleasure. Unfazed by the cold of the north, she felt nothing but heat pressed this close to him. She moved her hips once clutching to his tunic, then again...  
  
and again.  
  
And again.  
  
Her groans grew louder, her eyes screwed up in pleasure, her grip tightening on his shirt as she moved against him harder and harder and harder. Jon growled in arousal, his cock warm and wet, sheathed inside her, her tightness gripping him like a glove.  
  
Her raised up, ripping the chest of her dress, exposing her breast, he sucked on the area above her clavicle, eyes shut in pleasure moving against her faster and faster and faster.  
  
“Ahhhh---” she crooned against the intensity of Jon’s speed.  
  
“ _I love you._ ” He whispered pounding into her.  
  
“Fuckkkkk” She gasped.  
  
“ _I love you I love you...”  
_  
“My gods.... please... Jon....” She begged, his pace was intense, she could feel herself quaking, her clit rubbing against him. Soaking wet.  
  
“ _Fuckkk_.... _I love you"  
  
“Mmmmmmmmmmm”  
  
“I love you I love you I love you...”  
_  
It was a mantra, the moans escaping his lips. He could not say it enough. Sansa bit her lips, clutching at the locks at the back of Jon’s head, smiling, eyes closed, lost in the feel of him inside her, lost in the melody of his words.  
  
They said nothing else, they didn’t need to as Jon made love to her, fucking her into oblivion in the middle of the courtyard. The cold earth and dirt their bed that night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!  
> Don't really have too many words for this one, just a few points.
> 
> A. Jon is officially a Targaryen ;)
> 
> B. Whether he accepts it or not is of no consequence, the madness he's brought to the capital has convinced very important people of the fact. Queen Dany in particular.
> 
> C. Sansa and Jon :) Enough said.
> 
> D. The imminent wedding.
> 
> One last chapter after this one. Drawing this altogether to a close. Still have the Glovers to deal with. We'll see what their comeuppance will be ;) 
> 
> Thanks again to all of you've who've been following/reading thus far. Can't believe it's almost over! Been such a fun ride. I hope you all enjoy(ed)!


	15. Retribution.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Sansa are desperately in love but Jon can’t shake the guilt he feels of their blood ties. Their happiness is roadblocked by Jon’s stark sense of morality as well as the voices in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The morning after....

_“I’ve come to see Ser Lannister.” Sansa said sternly to a knight of the Queensguard.  
  
He was posted in front of an iron door embroidered with gold.  Bowing, the guard twisted the iron knob pushing the door open, stepping aside to let Sansa through.  
  
The room was like many in the South. Floor to ceiling windows with silk curtains billowing in and out in the warm southern wind. There were side tables with flagons of drink and fruit, on the walls were various swords, some of Valyrian steel and others of regular metal, from places as far as Essos and Braavos to places as near as the capital. In the center of the room lay a large bed with a fourposter canopy, sheets of cotton and wool embroidered with gold. Lying on the bed was Jaime.  
_  
_The top half of his body not covered in the blankets was raised on the many pillows that littered the bed. For his comfort, no doubt. His eyes were closed, his chest wrapped in a multitude of bandages. His breathing was ragged and heavy, clearly struggling against the pain from his wounds. Sansa inched towards him her face grim and severe. She pulled her hood back as she stood beside his bed staring at him waiting for him to awaken._  
  
_Jaime sensed someone was near, his green eyes fluttered open slowly, coming into focus on Sansa’s face which was boring down on him imperiously._  
  
_“Lady... Sansa....” He croaked_  
  
_Sansa was silent. Her breathing even, but growing in silent fury._  
  
_Jaime observed her, taking in her countenance._  
  
_“I see for the first time you’ve nothing to say.” he opined._  
  
_“You’ve betrayed me.” She whispered._  
  
_Jaime sucked in a half-hearted laugh “Betrayal.... that would constitute me having broken some sort of pact or contract. I don’t recall having made any with you, my lady.”_  
  
_“Quite the contrary, Ser Lannister. You lied to me. You broke my trust.” Sansa returned, her jaw clenching._  
  
_“Pray tell, how?” He challenged._  
  
_“Have your wounds effected your memory?” Sansa began dryly “What was it you told me the morning in the wood near Harrenhal? I asked you. What happened the night before. You stared me in my face and told me nothing.”_  
  
_Jaime was silent, eyeing Sansa, his face grim._  
  
_“I did what I thought was right.” He replied unapologetically_  
  
_“What you thought was right? What was right would have been the truth.”_  
  
_“I make no apologies, Sansa. Do you not recollect your state that morning? You were beside yourself at what you thought you’d done. I was showing you a lofty courtesy. You were not ready to hear the truth.”_  
  
_“I did not need for you to make that decision on my account. It should have been up to me to decide what I was and was not ready for. I see you wasted no time with the information you made yourself solely privy to. Apparently you decided Jon was ready to hear the truth?” Sansa chided_  
  
_“Ahhhhh now we’re getting to the root... You’re not angry I didn’t tell you, you’re angry I told the king.” Jaime replied with a sardonic smile. “Your brother is not as innocent as he seems, my lady. A few choice words from him provoked my revelations. It was only right I set him straight on his presumptions. He was under the impression you did not come here of your own accord. Had you not time to tell him the truth? Perhaps not. It was clear when my men and I charged your quarters that you were otherwise...engaged.” He spat._  
  
_Sansa did not blush, instead moved closer to him sitting on the bed advancing into his space._  
  
_“I could not remember. As you well know, so goes my notion of your betrayal. Regardless, the past could not be changed. The truth should have come from your lips anyway. I would have coped. Made the decision myself. You shame yourself, as a knight. There is no honor in you.” She said hotly_  
  
_“Honor....” Jaime laughed. “Everyone on this bloody continent is so keen to use that term. As if it applies in every circumstance. Lady Sansa, what might be honorable to you might be dishonorable to another. I killed the mad king, forever branded with the title ‘Kingslayer’ as if what i’d done had been a crime. Had I not done this ‘dishonorable’ thing, Kings Landing would have been a city buried under it’s own infrastructure, obliterated by wildfire. Well before my sister had the pleasure. I know of no dishonor, only that I was presented with a curious circumstance-- I returned my debt to you, as a Lannister, and now, this is the thanks I get.” He snarled._  
  
_“I’ve thanked you, Ser Jaime. And that should have been the extent of it. I needed no more favors. Certainly not a cowards attempt to provoke Jon while incarcerated. You knew he could not fight back.” Sansa declared_  
  
_“...Perhaps. But his capability to fight me or not was not my concern. He had an assumption, I set him straight. I will not be chided for it. Even if he could not fight, I see he has allies to do his work for him, some of the reptilian persuasion. You need not worry about me.” He hissed. His face set in a grimace as his wounds boiled._  
  
_Sansa looked down at him, observing his state. A menacing smile crept up her face. “Yes... clearly. I see I can make no headway as to your sins against me. You seem adamant on your position. The gods have seen fit to administer your retribution nonetheless, I need not interfere. So, I’ll thank you one last time, Ser Jaime, for your courtesies towards me. But understand this...” She said, her face inching closer to his, her hand gripping his chin._  
  
_“If you ever hurt Jon or stand in the way of my happiness with my brother again, I’ll have the dragon finish what it started.” She whispered. Her other hand pressing slightly on Jaime’s chest, sending a ripping sting through his torso._  
  
_He cringed, his eyes welling up in agony. Sansa was unfazed. Searching his eyes. Strangely delighted at his pain._  
  
_“Is that understood?” She whispered softly._  
  
_Jaime wrenched his head free from her grasp. Sansa stood, shifting her gown and raising her hood, turning on her heel making her way towards the door._  
  
_“You’re to leave then?” Jaime croaked, recovering from his aches, eyeing Sansa with one eye open, the other shut in a pained wince._  
  
_“Aye.” She said shortly._  
  
_“He’ll marry that girl, Sansa. This honor you hold so dear, your precious brother is stark full of it. He’ll chose the honorable path, you know. As the noble Eddark Stark always had. The only thing that stands in the way of your happiness, is the very man you’d threaten me for. How ironic.” Jaime called after her lazily._  
  
_Sansa stopped in her tracks, clenching her fist. She turned her head slightly, calling over her shoulder “Tis a guarantee, ser Jaime. Not a threat.” She spat and without another word, knocked for her release. The door opened abruptly, Sansa brushed past the guard and out of sight._  
_****************************************************_  
The brisk north wind roused Sansa from her dream. The crisp air cooled her nostrils. The sun was creeping up, half hidden by the grey winter clouds. Her eyes fluttered open to the great gates opening and shutting in the wind. The sound of bells chiming softly.   
   
Her head lifted slightly, but not of her own accord, she was nuzzled against Jon’s black tunic.   
  
They lay in the middle of the courtyard, their cloaks their bedding on the gelid northern dirt. Earth was smeared on their arms, their legs, their faces. Looking thoroughly and blissfully feral. Their clothes were ripped here and there, Jon’s neck littered in bites. Sansa’s nethers feeling powerfully tender.  
  
He was breathing in deeply, Sansa kissed his chest, raising her eyes to look at him. His grey eyes were staring upwards, his fingers weaving in and out of her locks, his others gliding up to the dip in her hips and down the exposed skin of her thigh draped across him.  
  
Sansa exhaled with a shudder, closing her eyes against his touch, her fingers tightening on his tunic, pressing her lips to it again. Her ears caught the dulcet ringing once more. Opening her eyes, she spoke against Jon’s chest.   
  
“The bells.” Sansa said softly.  
  
Jon’s jaw clenched slightly, but his breathing even, the beautiful sound of the bells clashing with his thoughts. They were not melodious to him at all. Quite the contrary. Those bells signaled an age old northern tradition, they would ring from the break of dawn signaling the capital and the surrounding towns of the occasion until the bridegroom and the bride said their vows before the Weirwood tree.  
  
“Tis my wedding day...” Jon whispered absently.  
  
Sansa face fell as he stroked her hair and traced his fingers up her thigh. She was silent, fiddling with the cloth of Jon’s tunic.  
  
_‘He’ll marry that girl, Sansa....’  
_  
A chill ran down her spine as Jaime’s last words to her echoed through her mind.  
_  
‘He’ll chose the honorable path, you know...’_  
  
_‘The only thing that stands in the way of your happiness, is the very man you’d threaten me for...’  
_  
Sansa swallowed hard. A slight twinge of dread pressing hard against her chest. Though she’d never admit it to him, Jaime was right. Jon was honorable, to a fault. His integrity was what had brought them to this point.  
  
It was moments like these that made her crave slightly for the man who’d massacred a mob to get to her.   
  
Damn honor.  
  
Hang duty.  
  
Perhaps it was too late. Perhaps they were too deep into the web woven... entwined in it’s grasp.. unable to untangle themselves from it’s hold. Perhaps last night was the last night Jon would make love to her.   
  
_‘This honor, your precious brother is stark full of it...’  
_  
Sansa bit her lip... Her cerulean eyes beginning to brim. “Your wedding day...” She whispered, the words tasting sour against her tongue.   
  
Jon pressed his lips to her forehead. Grasping a handful of red tendrils, he tilted her head back. As Sansa’s eyes lifted to his grey, he laid a chaste kiss against her lips. Her eyes remained open as she stared into his face between his kisses. A question was forming on her lips, her body growing in trepidation as she prepared to utter it.  
  
“What....what will you do?” She croaked, her voice a hush above a whisper, attempting to speak through the constriction forming in her throat. She braced herself for his answer...  
  
Jon opened his eyes, locking them on Tully blue. His lips hovered above hers.  
  
“What will _we_ do.” He corrected.  
***********************************************  
The castle was bustling with activity. Maids were hustling about, inspecting every inch of the walls for blemish, shining every candelabra and dusting every panel of wood the could find. The floors were immaculate come afternoon. The halls wafted with the aroma of venison, bread and cakes.  
  
Erena, her famliy, and her handmaidens were fussing over her gowns sewing up her corsets and trimming the hem of her dress.  
  
“No! not like  _that!”_ Erena shrieked, slapping one of the girls’ hands away from her hip. “It must be loose, I can’t have my dress sucking the life from me, exposing all my unsavory parts. I must look regal. let it out a little so I may look the most flattering to my king.” She spat.  
  
“Yes m’lady.” bowed Olira.  
  
“Gods damn it, do what she asks, girl. From now on you serve the queen of Winterfell.” Snarled Lord Glover to the handmaiden, looking pompous and proud.  
  
“Of course, my lord.” Olira responded, obediently.  
  
“My darling, when you’ve been coronated, we’ll see if we can’t find you some proper and competent help.” interjected Lady Sybelle Glover haughtily eyeing Olira with disdain.  
  
“Perhaps you’re right, mother. It shall be among my first request to my new husband.” Said Erena silkily inspecting her reflection vainly in the tall mirror in front of her.  
  
“Be sure to make plenty of those, sweetling. With any luck, we’ll keep that bastard busy with those while I make sure to rule in his stead.” Interjected Ser Robett  
  
A satisfied guffaw rose from the room.  
  
“An excellent idea, father. The Starks have been too privy to power. Gone are the days of the great Bran the Builder.” Chortled Erena’s brother, Gawen  
  
“Too right you are. You’ll be by my side the whole way, son. I’ll need a capable heir to ascend to Winterfell’s throne after I’m gone.”  
  
The next moment a knock came at the chamber door. It opened with a creak.  
  
A steward boy entered the chamber with a short bow. “My lord...” he began nodding at Ser Robett “My ladies...” he continued toward Erena and the rest of the hand maidens   
  
“Is it that time already?” Asked lady Sybelle.  
  
“Yes my lady. The great hall shall see you now, the household is breaking their fast.”  
  
“Very well then” Sighed Erena. With a great shift of her skirts, she stepped of the dais, Her family and handmaidens following after her.  
**********************************************************************  
The halls were abuzz with the noise of the mass. Inside the great hall loaves of honeyed bread and rashers of bacon lay atop the tables. The smell of wheat meal wafted through the chamber.   
  
At the top tables the Glovers were sat at the top tables chatting happily as they ate. The Stark siblings, Arya and Bran, sat a little way away from them, barely picking at their food, attempting to have cordial conversation with Davos, Lyanna, Meera, Howland, and Brienne. Tormund was sitting at one of the long tables with the black brothers.  
  
A few moments later, two stewards let open the doors of the great hall with audibly. They were bowed.  
  
Acknowledging the stewards Jon and Sansa ambled through the hall hands clasped. The hall had fallen semi-silent. Onlookers were gaping at them, covered in dirt, clothes disheveled. Jon’s chest was exposed through his ripped tunic, girls sitting at the tables gawked at him in lust as well as shock. Sansa’s skin was glowing. Her hair was tossed about, laying thick down to her breast in curls, making her look more fierce than she probably intended. Whispers were forming on the lips of those who watched them stroll down the open aisle way towards the high table.  
  
Sansa began to feel their eyes on the back of her neck and on her face. She could hear the flurry of whispers buzzing throughout the room. Starting to feel slightly uncomfortable, she attempted to draw her hand away from Jon’s.  
  
He pulled her hand back, his grip tightening, keeping it locked firmly in his.  
  
They passed the table that sat Tormund and the black brothers, they nodded, knowing smiles playing at their lips  
  
Jon pulled himself and Sansa up to the tables, passing by the party who were already sat, he placed a hand on Davos’ shoulder in greeting, Sansa reached out her free hand, clasping it in Lady Brienne’s grasp briefly. Jon and Sansa reached their siblings, kissing them both on the forehead. They stood, moving over to let them to their seats. At the foot of Jon’s chair sat Ghost, waiting for him. He stood and licked Sansa’s face before nibbling at Jon’s fingertips. Jon ruffled his fur earning a rumble of satisfaction from Ghost in response.  
  
The hall was silent still, save for the buzzing of whispers, the confusion everyone was feeling was palpable. Jon and Sansa took their places at the table. Plates were set for them, Sansa took a sip of her tea but did start on her food. Jon, quite the contrary-- he plucked a lemon cake from his plate and placed it on Sansa’s. Sansa passed her honeyed bread to him that he ripped off with his teeth.   
  
The Glovers looked down at them aghast, their confusion more evident than anyone else’s in the hall.  
  
“What is the meaning of this?!” bellowed Ser Robett, standing to his feet, looking down the table towards the Starks.   
  
An anxious buzz filled the room while Ser Robett waited for his answer. Sansa was still sipping her tea delicately while Jon continued to rip his honeyed bread.  
  
“Are you deaf? I asked you a question!” he bellowed again, stepping down from his seat making to move in front of the tables so he might be heard better.   
  
“Something troubles you, Lord Glover?” Jon asked softly, looking up from his bread.  
  
“Aye, something indeed, what are you playing at? I’ve never in all my years observed such insult! You arrive here, late! The morning of my daughters wedding, looking like this?! Look at the state of you! Dishonor!”  
  
Jon stared at Lord Glover indifferently. He continued to chew on his bread, running a free hand through his hair.   
  
“There will be no wedding.” Jon whispered.   
  
Silence seeped through the room. Lord Glover was stupefied. His face taken aback in shock.  
  
“I beg your pardon.” he seethed, the color rising rapidly in his face.  
  
“You would have me enter said union under false pretenses, Ser. Blackmail, is a crime. Even worse, against a King. What example to the honor of the north would I be setting if I were to turn a blind eye to extortion and the culprits behind it?” Jon whispered rhetorically.   
  
Lord Glover was puce, his face was alive with shock and a hint of fear.  
  
“I know not what you speak of.” He growled indignantly.  
  
Jon arched and eyebrow. “Don’t you?” He whispered casually. “I’ll assist you then. You, Lord Glover, and your family attempted to blackmail your Lord King. You threatened me. My family.....For the sake of the north, I found it in bad taste to rid the kingdom of another house. As I’ve said, It would be a waste...”  
  
“-- Waste is right!” Interjected Ser Robett hotly “A waste is a king like you on the throne of noble Winterfell! You’re not fit to rule! I make no apologies for threatening to expose your sickling ways. Your blood is not pure. I’ve heard the whispers of your machinations in the south. Another insult to my house. You departed, took no interest or good sense in explaining your absence as my household and yours prepared tirelessly for today.... In your absence word spread fast. You consorted with dragons. One of them even submitted to you. You are not of the blood of the north!!” Lord Glover bellowed, pointing an accusatory finger at Jon. He rounded on the mass, his face growing more swollen and puce, spit flying from his lips.  
  
“He has the blood of Valyria!!” He screamed at the hall his finger still pointed behind him at Jon who sat calmly, dipping his bread in a saucer of honey.   
  
“That dragon queen’s beasts will only submit to a son of Valyrian lineage. It seems the honorable Eddard Stark sought to keep this information hidden from our region. He is the son of the mad king’s heir Prince Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark. The product of rape and violence! His foolish parents’ actions lead to the death of many a brave northman. FOR THIS! A bastard!” He bellowed.  
  
Jon’s jaw clenched. He sat back in his seat lazily, licking the honey off his lips, observing a seething Lord Glover calmly.   
  
“So you would admit to treason... Lord Glover” Jon replied.  
  
The vein in Lord Glover’s temple throbbed threatingly. “Treason! A likely tale! Is that what you would call my attempts to keep the north pure?? Look at him!!! “ He screamed at the crowd, spit flying from his lips his eyes bulging from his sockets. “Warming a throne that does not belong to him! I’m doing our kingdom a service!! This man. This... this... ABOMINATION, would continue the sister-fucking traditions of his fore-fathers!” He spat.  
  
Arya’s grip on Needle tightened, her jaw set in the classic firm line that gave her a striking resemblance to Jon.  
  
Bran’s eyes narrowed.  
  
Brienne and Davos were frowning.  
  
Tormund and the black brothers were looking at Lord Glover imperiously, glaring at him with a mixture of humor and distaste.  
  
Sansa eyed Ser Robett murderously above her teacup.  
  
Ghost stood full height, his teeth bared menacingly.   
  
The crowd remained silent. Lord Glover was tactless. He had crossed a line. The discomfort and shock was so thick throughout the room, one could choke on it.  
  
Jon continued to regard Ser Robett from his seat at the high table, his head lounging back, His jaw still clenched, licking the last of the honey from the side of his mouth. After a considerable pause, Jon cocked his head to the side.  
  
“Take Lord Glover outside.” He whispered.  
  
Without a moments haste, Tormund, Edd, the black brothers, Lord Wyman Manderly and his bannerman, knights from House Reed, Cerwyn and Mormont lifted to their feet, surrounding Ser Robett, gripping him by the arms.  
  
“This is PREPOSTEROUS! I am of NOBLE BLOOD!!! GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!!! YOU THINK YOU CAN HANG _ME_ LIKE A COMMON CRIMINAL?! _ME?! I AM OF DEEPWOOD MOTTE!!_  This BOY THINKS HE CAN FRIGHTEN ME?? I WILL NOT YIELD!!”  
  
Jon considered Lord Glover as he tantrumed and bellowed.   
  
“Edd....” Jon announced, his calm and even voice ringing out even above Lord Glover’s shouts. The hall fell silent.  
  
“Fetch me a block.” he said. Unsheathing Longclaw.  
  
Ser Robett’s face dropped.  
  
Edd with a half grin at at Ser Robett, cocked his head up in acknowledgement to Jon, him and two of the nights watchmen pushed past the back doors of the hall to the courtyard.  
  
The rest of the men followed dragging Ser Robett who was throttling and writhing.  
  
Jon tore the last bit if his bread into his mouth, his eyes on Lord Glover as he was dragged out. As the rest of the party scraped their seats back and headed outwards, Jon stood, reaching out his hand and grabbing Sansa’s. She set her cup down silently letting Jon lead her, Ghost prowled along beside them.  
  
A cold gust of wind hit Jon around the face as the doors to the courtyard creaked open audibly. A thick throng was amassing around set of crooked steps that raised to a sleek wooden dais.   
  
Lord Glover was hauled up the steps and forced to his knees. He was bellowing obscenities all the while, writhing and thrashing, completely defiant.  
  
Edd marched up the crooked steps on the other side of the dais. In three strides he stood before a combative Ser Robett, slamming the block Jon requested down in front of them.  
  
Jon, releasing his grip on Sansa’s hand with a brief caress, stepped slowly up the crooked steps. Longclaw dragging beside him with a menacing and ear-splitting scrape.  
  
His grey eyes looked down at Lord Glover whose face was a deep violet now, swollen from his bellos and efforts to unhand himself from his captors. A large vein was portruding from his temple, spit dribbbling from the side of his mouth, like a dog gone mad.  
  
“If you have any last words, Ser Glover, now’s the time.” Jon said softly. his face devoid of emotion. Stoic.  
  
Lord Glover glared up at Jon murderously then back at the crowd frantically.  
  
“This man.. is... NOT WORTHY! He is not Ned Starks trueborn! His position on the throne is a lie! I seek to uphold the honor of the north! He is vile! Depraved! He is a bastard! A BASTARD!!!” Lord Glover screamed willing the crowd desperately to swallow his argument.   
  
They only looked at him, silent, faces grim, if he thought he had a friend in the host, their muteness screamed quite the contrary.  
  
A moment later, a voice rang out from the crowd.  
  
“We know no king, but the king in the north whose name is Stark.” Said the cool and curt voice of Lyanna Mormont. She was standing next to Arya and Sansa, looking at Ser Glover sternly, not an ounce of sympathy in her face. “Half the blood of Valyria makes no difference to me, Ned’s Stark’s blood still runs though his veins.”  
  
“Aye!” Rang out a random voice in the crowd. Then another, and another, and another. A roar of agreement began to pick up through the mass like an avalanche.  
  
“He’s _my_ king.” Lady Lyanna finished. Her eyebrow arched in challenge to Lord Glover who looked at the ten year old murderously.  
  
He craned his head around to his left, to his right, behind him, in front of him, searching for support, some inkling that he was not alone in his sentiments.   
  
He found none.  
  
His face, still the color of a prune, dropped in a last ditch attempt to remain proud “My family... they will avenge me... mark my words _boy..._ you’ll see...” he snarled  
  
Jon crouched near Lord Glover’s ear. Reaching a hand out, he gripped his face, turning it to the side roughly, then slowly towards the mass in front of him  
  
“Look around. Your family, Ser Glover, have deserted you.” he said softly.  
  
Realization dawned on his face that he was alone.  
  
Abandoned.   
  
His breathing became heavier. The puce color on his face draining like hot water through a pipe. He was as pallid as Ghost a second later. His fear evident.  
  
So lost in his thoughts and proud defiance, he did not notice Jon stand, raising Longclaw.  
  
The Valyrian steel descended swiftly, Cutting Ser Glover’s head off in one clean blow. Blood spurt from his neck, splattering the crowd in front of the dais. His pallid and severed head rolling across the sleek wood and plopping with a thud to the frozen dirt.  
  
Shouting and screaming could be heard to the rear of the mass. Three knights from house Mormont, Manderly, and Cerwyn were leading a struggling Erena, her brother Gawen and her Mother Sybelle up towards the dais.  
  
“They stole horses from the stables, my Lord. Meant to escape.” Announced the knight from house Mormont, his tone clearly fighting to show his distaste at their cowardice, shoving a writhing Erena onto the dais next to her family.  
  
Jon licked his lips, wiping the blood that splattered from Lord Glover’s neck off his face. Watching Erena as she cursed and spat.  Her hair was disheveled, the garish wreath of dried winter roses Jon had placed on her head during the melee lay crooked on her muddy locks. Her face was red with the heat from her screams. Her ornate white dress was soaked at the hem with dirt and fresh blood from her fathers head.  
  
“NO! NO!!!! Unhand me now!!! You’ll pay for this, I am of noble blood! THIS IS MY WEDDING DAY!!!! UNHAND ME! I’m innocent! I am next to be queen!!! THIS IS MY WEDDING DAY!!!” She screamed. Her vocals as powerful as her fathers  
  
and just as ineffective.   
  
“My father was right! My bed’s too pure for you to share! You’d rather engage in your disgusting affair than taste the sweetness of a pure northern maid! You are to be my husband!! It is my wedding day! IT IS MY WED--”  
  
Her screams stopped abruptly, followed by a sharp choking gargle. She dropped noisily to her knees, her lips disappeared under a flood of blood pouring out of her mouth. Raising a shaking hand to her neck, her fingers touched the hilt of Needle, lodged deep inside the center of her neck.  
  
“There will be no wedding.” Arya whispered, whose eyes had, a moment before, closed momentarily in relief, having finally silenced Erena’s pestilential screeches. The shot open, glaring savagely at her.  
  
Erena’s eyes widened, her choking and sputtering echoing across the courtyard. Her eyes came in and out of focus, landing finally on Sansa’s face  
  
Who returned Erena’s signature smirk with one of her own.  Her fierce look intensified as the billowing wind freckled Sansa’s face with specks of Erena’s blood.  
  
Jon cocked his head to the side, crouching down as he’d done with Ser Glover. He brushed Erena’s muddy colored locks back with a calloused finger pressing his lips up to her ear.  
  
“I thought I made myself clear?” He whispered softly  
  
Erena’s eyes widened as she realized what Jon was referring to. She began to panic. She struggled in vain to pry Needle from her throat, flecking Jon with specks of blood in her attempts.  
  
Jon stared at her indifferently, rising up to his feet, he raised Longclaw again, sending it with a powerful strike downwards. Erena’s head split from her body, rolling across the bloody dias, landing with a thud on the gelid earth next to her fathers. Arya stepped forwards pulling needle out of Erena’s severed neck, wiping it on the arm of her cloak.  
  
Jon did the same to Sybelle and Gawen, who begged for their lives, when begging did not provide them the outcome they so desired they resorted to Robett and Erena’s approach, spitting and cursing obscenities.  
  
Dying in disgrace.  
  
Jon breathed in and out heavily when the job was done. Ser Robett’s words ringing in his ears.  
_  
“His position on the throne is a lie!”  
  
“He is not worthy!”  
  
“Depraved!”_  
  
His mind was lost in the echoes, swimming in his thoughts, staring at the crimson pool pouring over his feet. He barely heard the noise that was beginning to rise within the crowd  
  
A moment later, long lithe fingers blurred the vision of the crimson, gently entwining soft fingers in between the rough and calloused digits of Jon’s large hands. His eyes came into focus on Sansa who was inching toward him slowly, her lips gently pressing onto his. He let Longclaw drop to the dais, wrapping his arms around her.  
  
The noise from the crowd rose deafeningly. They were shouting... something... But gods, Jon thought, the taste of her. It was all he could focus on.  
  
Louder and louder and louder the clamor rose, Jon could just make it out...  
  
“ _The king in the north... the King in the North... THE KING IN THE NORTH, THE KING IN THE NORTH!!!!”  
_  
Sansa smiled into the kiss  
  
“The King in the North...” She whispered  
  
It sounded so sweet, coming from her lips.  
  
The king in the north, he thought, deepening the kiss.  
  
And she was his queen.  
  
He didn’t care who knew.  
  
He didn’t care who saw.  
  
She was his.  
  
No one else's.  
  
And gods help _anyone_ who stood in his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!! So we're here. It's done. 
> 
> And I'm proud.
> 
> Because for once, I've actually done the opposite of my dionysian nature and completed something. A story with a beginning, middle and end, lol. 
> 
> First things first!
> 
> Sansa makes her peace (for lack of a better word) with Jaime.
> 
> Jon and Sansa have officially given zero fucks about propriety. They're in love. They fuck in courtyards. And they don't care who knows.
> 
> The cowardly Glover's have finally gotten their comeuppance, served with a side of bloody ;) I thought about having Sansa do the deed, but then I remembered Sansa never really gets her hands dirty (That's another story ;) ), Arya's the assassin.
> 
> And Jon finished the job (He DID warn her, reinforcing the age old adage: talk shit, get hit [or in this case, clipped at the neck.])
> 
> Now that the word is out that our favorite bastard is half Valyrian, no more voices disrupting sweet lovemaking with the lady of Winterfell.
> 
> All is right with the world, lol.
> 
> Can't believe it's over! Thank you for reading! I've said it once and I'll say it a thousand times
> 
> You all are the real MVPS <3.
> 
> At some point I might add an epilogue, edit and add some things I wish I had, cut a few bits out. But that might not be for a while. Got a new project I'm working on... will be Jonsa. Will be intense. Will be carnal. Will be dark. But that's all I'll say for now :)
> 
> Again, thank you all for sticking with me and this story and for making my first fanfiction experience such a positive one. Nothing but good vibes. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy(ed).


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